The Light Through the Dark
by jsq
Summary: A routine investigation leads to an abduction and an exploration of all the ways in which we can break...and all the ways in which we can be put back together. Warning: Rated M for violence, including sexual assault.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; I profit from nothing.**

**Setting: The beginning of season 6. I played around a bit with the timing- in my world, everyone returned to D.C. in late July. **

**Warning: This is the only time I will issue this warning- this story will contain kidnapping, violence and sexual assault. Please avoid this story if you are underage, or if this kind of material could trigger a post-traumatic response.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to a few twitter pals-MaliBearsBuddy for reading over a few chapters, Biba79 for looking over the outline & for sharing a helpful video, and ProfeJMarie for a couple of instances of very timely advice. Most of all, I would like to thank Amilyn for both brainstorming and beta-reading this story. Her help has been invaluable, and without her encouragement, advice and insight, this story would not have been written.**

Chapter 1: The Roads We Take.

_Temperance Brennan twisted around in her stool at the diner's counter. She pasted a hint of a smile on her lips as she watched her partner and his new girlfriend, the woman who was just right, leave together. She tried not to think too hard about how she used to be the one whose place was beside him. She tried to tell herself that his happiness made her happy...that the twinge in her chest wasn't hurt, wasn't disappointment._

_When had she started allowing herself to be confused by emotion? One more thing to get under control._

_She forced her smile to become more than a hint. She was happy for him. She was happy for Hannah. She was happy for herself. She had chosen a path and would not allow herself to be anything other than content with its destination._

_oOo_

_He tossed his suitcase on the bed and sighed. Looking around, he took in his temporary home. Neutral, safe...boring. He wouldn't expect anything less from the feds. He saw that they weren't bluffing when they said he'd have no means of communicating with the outside world. He wasn't worried. There were only two people he really cared about- one of them was on the other side of the globe, and the other would find a way to contact him if he needed to._

_He wasn't really sure why he'd agreed to this. His past was his past, and he had never been one to look back. He'd never concerned himself with a need to atone. He didn't bother with regrets._

_Still, here he was. Like a man with something to prove._

_He growled and joined his suitcase on the bed. Might as well grab a nap._

_

* * *

_

"Oh my God, I'm in heaven," Angela groaned as she took a sip of her drink and turned her face up to the sunny D.C. sky.

Brennan chuckled and nudged her friend. "I've heard Dupont Circle described in many ways, but 'heaven' is not usually among them."

"Yes, well," Angela looped her arm through Brennan's, "that just tells me that you haven't been talking to anyone who has discovered the absolute _perfection_ that is Teatime's caramel apple chai. Are you sure you won't try a sip?" Angela held out her cup, but Bren shook her head.

"No, thanks. I prefer my chai without caramel...or apples. Besides, if popular culture depictions of pregnant women are to be believed, it would be dangerous of me to attempt to come between you and the object of your craving. Of course, there is no biological evidence to suggest that..." She trailed off, reminding herself that long scientific ramblings were of no interest to most people. If she were going to develop stronger social connections, she needed to remember that there were many things best left unsaid. She smiled warmly at Angela. "I'm glad you are enjoying your drink."

Angela gave her arm a squeeze. "And _I_ am glad that I was able to convince you to hop on the subway and come all the way to Dupont Circle for a mid-afternoon break. Is this what Maluku did to you, Bren? Put you on island time? Turned you into the kind of woman who's willing to run off on tea breaks with her best friend during a perfectly good work day?"

"As far as I know, there's no such thing as 'island time.' There are three time zones in Indonesia, and Maluku is part of the Asia Jayapura zone..." She caught herself again with a laugh. "Oh, you were joking- making a reference to what you feel is my relaxed work ethic." Brennan pursed her lips and shot her friend a look of faux offense. "I'll have you know that my willingness to abandon the office has nothing to do with islands and everything to do with my commitment to my duties as an honorary aunt."

Angela smiled as she placed a hand on her still-flat stomach. "I love that you're so excited about this."

Had Angela thought she wouldn't be excited? Brennan considered this for a moment, trying not to let her face fall. She wanted to be the kind of friend who could be counted on to be happy for her friends' happiness. She spoke as sincerely as she knew how, "Of course I'm excited. You and Hodgins will make excellent parents. Besides, it's serious business, being part of a child's support network. The lady at the baby supply store told me it was an aunt's job to spoil the child...so I thought I'd start today, with the caramel apple chai that you claimed the baby wanted."

"Baby supply store?"

"Yes, the one in Georgetown I visited over the weekend. It had all of the furniture and toys and...well, supplies that you need for a baby. Angela, it's a good thing Hodgins is wealthy, because all of that stuff is quite expensive. Although, I suppose you'll be getting quite a bit of what you need at the shower. The lady at the store said I should wait until the last trimester to host it, but I thought I'd check with you about that, because it doesn't really leave you with much time to acquire anything you might not get at the shower, and considering how large you'll be by then... What?" Angela had a funny look on her face that made Brennan nervous. Had she said the wrong thing?

Her eyes widened as she watched tears begin to slip down Angela's cheeks. "You're crying."

"I know."

"Why?"

"I can't help it."

"Did I do something? Is it because I said you would be large? Because you _will_ get bigger, but that's necessary for the baby to grow. You take excellent care of yourself, so there's no need to be concerned..."

"No, Bren," now Angela was laughing through her tears, "that's not it. I actually plan to enjoy the excuse to eat whatever I want. No, I just...I really love you."

Brennan bit her lip. "Oh. Well, I really love you too."

The two women continued their walk toward the Dupont Circle station, knowing they couldn't delay their return to the Jeffersonian much longer.

"So, speaking of you in Auntie Bren mode, how's Haley? Have you spoken to your dad?"

A shadow crossed Brennan's face at the mention of her step-niece. Complications from cystic fibrosis had resulted in the little girl being in and out of the hospital for several months. Her father had sent her a letter while she was in Maluku explaining the situation and saying that he was going to stay with Russ and help out until Haley got past this. Brennan tried not to consider the possibility that the bright little girl might not make it past this. She had the best medical care available. She would be fine. Haley would be fine, and Angela's baby would be fine. They had to be.

Brennan shook her head in response to Angela's question. "I haven't spoken to Dad, but I've talked to Russ, Haley, and Haley's doctors. Everyone is optimistic. I was going to go visit, but Russ thinks it would be better to wait until her condition has stabilized."

The look on Angela's face said she did not quite follow Russ's logic, but she appeared to decide against seeking clarification. "Is it weird not having your dad around?"

"My father wasn't around for fifteen years."

Angela accepted her answer without comment as they boarded the Metro. Brennan noticed a familiar glint in her best friend's eyes. "So, what do we think of Hannah?"

She kept her voice even. "While I cannot begin to guess what _you_ think of Hannah, _I _think she's lovely. She seems..._right_...for Booth."

"Yeah," Angela drummed her nails on the seat in front of her, and her eyes narrowed mischievously, "but a little _too_ right, right?"

"Angela," Brennan's tone was a warning.

The artist shrugged a shoulder. "I'm just saying that it wouldn't come as a total shock if her skin was made of scales under those perfectly tailored jeans."

Brennan considered another warning, but remembered who she was dealing with. She allowed a smile to play at the corners of her lips as she said, "Angela, you should know by now that one can't have both skin and scales. The two are mutually exclusive."

oOo

The women were laughing as they approached the entrance to the lab, but they fell silent as soon as they crossed the threshold. The tension in the room was nearly tangible.

Angela's eyes met her husband's in a silent question. Hodgins gave her a reassuring smile. "Looks like I'm taking a little trip."

Brennan was confused. "To where?"

"Virginia Beach." Brennan started at the sound of her partner's voice. "And he's not going alone. Grab your bag, Bones. Me, you, Cam and Hodgins? We're going on a road trip."


	2. Geography is Destiny

_Chapter 2: Geography is Destiny._

Brennan asked, "Why?" at the same time Angela said, "No." Booth shot the artist a confused glance before addressing his partner.

"The same reason as always. There's a body, and where there's a body, there's us."

"Us, yes, but not normally Cam and Hodgins."

"Well," Booth lowered his voice, "this case is a little...special."

"Special how?"

"For one thing, the bones were found in the salt marshes. We need to take Hodgins to make sure that all of the relevant bugs and dirt and what have you are collected. Cam...well, Cam was requested."

Brennan's forehead crinkled as she swiveled to look at her boss. Cam wasn't looking too pleased herself. "Requested? Is there still flesh on the body?"

"No," Cam answered pointedly, and Brennan congratulated herself on reading her supervisor correctly: definitely not pleased. "It is strongly suspected that the body belongs to one of the higher-ups in the Freedom First Movement...one of those far right fringe groups. Anyway, apparently the Republican Senator from Virginia has received some hefty contributions from the group. Meanwhile, the Democratic Senator has been on the receiving end of some of their most vicious attacks. Basically meaning both Senators have a vested interest in this investigation being completed quietly and thoroughly. They're insisting that the head of the Medico-legal lab be present and that no one other than the four of us participate in the collection of the remains."

Brennan couldn't decide if she was more offended by the idea that the quality of her work would decrease without someone watching over her shoulder, or by the involvement of the FBI and Jeffersonian in a silly political squabble. "Did anyone see fit to let the Senators know that the Jeffersonian is not a player in political games?"

Hodgins snorted, "Oh baby, we are all pawns in-"

Booth held up a hand to stop him. "Not another word from you. I promise we'll stop and let you pick up your tinfoil hat on the way." Booth looked back at Brennan before leaning over to whisper to Hodgins, "And if I were you, I'd find a way to apologize for calling Bones 'baby.'"

Hodgins grinned sheepishly at Brennan, who rolled her eyes.

Angela, who had been growing more and more agitated with each passing second, finally waved her hands in the air and spoke loudly, "Um, excuse me, but did anyone hear me when I said 'no'?"

Everyone turned to face her, but it was Booth who spoke first. "We heard you, but decided to ignore you, since you were making absolutely no sense."

"Hey." Hodgins' tone was sharp as he glared at Booth. Turning back to his wife, he spoke softly, "There's nothing to worry about Angie. Virginia Beach is only a four hour drive. I'll be back before you wake up in the morning."

Angela shook her head, unable to be appeased. "No. It's not just you. I don't want any of you to go." She looked at each of her friends in turn. "I know I sound like a crazy person right now, but I just have a bad feeling about this. Don't go. Please don't go." She blinked furiously against the tears that threatened to fall.

Booth took a step back, and Brennan assumed the gesture was an indication that hormonal pregnant women with premonitions weren't part of his job description. Cam looked equally ill at ease, so Brennan stepped forward and awkwardly patted Angela on the shoulder. "It's probably indigestion, Angela. It's quite common during the first trimester. There are some excellent over-the-counter medications..." Angela shook off her friend's hand, and Brennan looked back at Booth helplessly. Booth turned his head, and she suspected he was biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing.

Thankfully, Cam appeared to deem it time to step in. "Angela, I'm sorry you have a bad feeling, but you know we can't just not go and investigate a crime scene because you have the heebie-jeebies."

Once again Brennan looked to Booth for an explanation. This time he coughed to cover his laughter.

Angela was biting her lip. "Call me when you get there and when you're on your way back. I don't care what time it is."

oOo

Brennan increased the volume on Booth's radio. They were half-way to Virginia Beach, with Cam and Hodgins following close behind in the Jeffersonian's equipment van. Although Brennan didn't believe in premonitions, she found herself wishing she had found a way to heed Angela's.

The car ride had been miserable, and she didn't understand why. Things between her and Booth were as awkward as they had been before their time apart, and it was exhausting. Brennan couldn't process it. She had known things would be different when they returned...she just hadn't expected them to be different in quite this way. Truthfully, she had thought that perhaps she would be willing to give _them_ a try upon her return. That was before she had known about Hannah, and she'd never said anything to Booth, so that couldn't be it.

He had moved on. He was happy with Hannah. She had been happy for him. So he couldn't be mad at her, right? She had made every attempt to make Hannah feel welcome...she had hoped they could all be friends. During the first part of the ride, she'd tried to engage him in conversation about their new living arrangements, but his answers had been short, and he'd turned on the radio.

It was as though she annoyed him, as though he wished he could be in this car with anyone else but her. Her stomach lurched as she considered the possibility that this might actually be the case. Maybe he'd moved on more completely than she'd realized. Maybe finding happiness with someone else had caused him to see _her_ as so many other people did- as a valuable colleague, but a tiresome friend. Brennan took in a sharp breath and fought against the prick of tears at the thought of Booth finding her tiresome. The part of her that wanted to shout "I told you so!" was warring with the part of her that had vowed to become a better friend.

Exhausting.

oOo

Booth stomped on the accelerator and gritted his teeth. God, he wanted out of this car. He searched his mind for any sin he might've committed to deserve this particular brand of punishment.

He'd been managing. He'd moved on. He'd found Hannah, who was wonderful. She made him laugh, she brought out the adventurous side of him...she was good in bed. He loved Hannah. Loved her. It was just so much easier to remember that when his contact with his partner was kept to a minimum.

When Brennan wasn't right there in front of him, it was easy to stay focused on who was. Should his favorite anthropologist cross his mind, he could simply call up the memory of her shooting him down. He could then follow that up with the memory of her dating his boss. _Poof._ Just like that, she'd fade away...easily replaced by his favorite journalist.

However, when she was right next to him, it was a little more difficult to keep in mind that she didn't belong there. Memories never held a candle to reality, and it would become so hard not to love her. There was a balance, he knew, between love and friendship. He would be able to find it. He just needed time. Time and space.

He glanced over at her, and she was staring straight ahead. She looked hurt, and he supposed he was the cause. She wouldn't understand why he needed to keep her at a distance right now. The side of him that wanted to shake her warred with the side of him that wanted to hold her.

He sighed and tightened his grip on the wheel.

oOo

Two hours into the crime scene investigation, and Booth and Brennan were back to being the version of themselves with which they'd always been most comfortable- the unbeatable team. She was locating and labeling each bone, while he was fielding calls from his superiors and investigating the surrounding area. Hodgins was in his own little version of heaven, what with all the insect life on the scene, and Cam was "supervising." In other words, she was assisting Brennan, glaring at Booth and trying not to complain about the conditions in the marshes.

It was dark, and they were working by spotlights. It made it impossible to see beyond the perimeter of the crime scene. When Booth stepped away to return yet another phone call, no one noticed. They had forgotten that Angela had predicted this night wouldn't end well. They stayed focused on their work.

oOo

It was difficult to catch an ex-sniper off-guard. Not impossible, though. Not if you do your research. Not if you plan. It wasn't as though he'd never been caught off guard in the past. A taser had worked before, and it worked just as well tonight. A little duct tape, and everything was falling into place.

With the most dangerous among them neutralized, it wouldn't be difficult to subdue the scientists under the spotlights. Their goal was well within reach.


	3. and Then the Men Came

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all of the alerts, favorites and reviews. I love feedback in all its forms. My continued gratitude to Amilyn for her invaluable assistance on this story.

**Chapter 3: ...and Then the Men Came.**

It was silent, until it wasn't. The lights were shining brightly against the dark sky, and they were gathering evidence- quietly, efficiently. It was just the three of them...until suddenly, there were seven. They barely had time to register the fact that the four men _(they had to be men, it's always the men that come)_ had guns before there was shouting- orders to step forward, to get on their knees. The instinct was to fight, to run, but someone was missing. Booth. Booth had stepped out past the lights, and he hadn't returned. These men, whoever they were, they had Booth. They had Booth, and they had guns. Orders were obeyed.

Brennan's knees sank into the soft ground beneath them. Cam was beside her, a couple of feet away. Hodgins was on the other side of Cam. Brennan glanced at her friends, trying to ascertain their states of mind, but her own thoughts were reeling, and she found it impossible to get a read on her companions. The men were talking, approaching them, but she couldn't focus on their words. She peered into the darkness beyond the spotlights, desperately searching for a sign of Booth. If she could just catch a glimpse of him, just enough to know that he was okay, she would be able to think clearly. She would be able to do the rational thing, to listen, to gather clues.

She continued to search the darkness until her head was snapped back by someone pulling her hair. She felt the cool metal of a gun being pointed at her temple. The noises to her right let her know that Cam and Hodgins were experiencing something similar. Brennan worked to steady her breath. She couldn't do anything for Booth now; she had to pull herself together and pay attention to what was happening around her.

The fourth man, the one who wasn't tasked with holding a gun to anyone's head, approached Hodgins with a roll of duct tape. Hodgins was saying something, but his voice was shaking, and his words sounded like they were leaving his mouth in slow motion. Brennan tried to decipher them, but there was no more sound. The duct tape. The man must have covered his mouth. She swallowed, thinking of Angela begging them not to go.

She couldn't turn her head to find out exactly what was happening- the man behind her had yet to let go of her hair, forcing her to look up at an uncomfortable angle. She blocked out the discomfort and the sound of the man with the duct tape moving on to Cam. She had to think. Why was this happening? The case, it had to be related to the case. A political movement, a murdered leader. The obvious conclusion was that these men were somehow connected to this murder. This was a group, not someone acting alone. Therefore, she could reasonably assume..._but she'd never been in favor of assumptions_...she would...she would assume...Cam hadn't made a sound. Had they taped her mouth too? _And where was Booth?_ No, no...back to the men.

She tried to think like Sweets- he would say that her best chance of getting out of this situation was to understand her captors. Her heart rate was rising once again. Assumptions. They were a group. They had murdered the man in the marshes. They were part of a rival movement? Someone who had been offended by Freedom First? Of course, it was possible they were part of the same group as the murdered man. Maybe he had done something they considered harmful to the movement.

This. This was why conclusions came after evidence. There were just too many possibilities. She was making guesses, and guesses were useless. The man with the duct tape was behind her now. He yanked her arms behind her back, began taping her wrists together. The other man let go of her hair. She risked a peek at her friends, and she saw what was coming. Hogtying. The men were going to hogtie her and tape her mouth shut. _Was that what they did to Booth? _

Wait. Wait. She needed to focus. Time was running out. That was a piece of truth to which she could hold. She'd worked with the FBI long enough to know that being moved to a second location rarely resulted in an ending that was anything other than horrific. She had moments. How much time had passed since the men had come? It seemed like an eternity, but she knew that was a result of her physical response to the stressful situation. It had probably only been minutes, if that. She needed to think of a plan. Something that would make sure they weren't taken from these marshes.

Then she heard a sound that changed her mind. It came from the other side of the barrier separating light from dark. It was a groan, _his _groan. It was muffled, but it was proof of life. She wasn't allowed to bask in her relief, though.

The men, they also heard it. The one with the gun pressed into Hodgins' curls was the one to speak.

"Did you hear that? Come on, man, let's get the hostage and get out of here."

Brennan's thoughts froze...then began to whirl. She quickly overcame her aversion to assumptions. Booth had somehow been incapacitated...but he was coming to. His mouth hadn't been taped yet. Were his hands? Had he also been assigned a gunman? It didn't matter. The man that spoke...he said they needed to go. He said they needed to get the hostage. Singular. They weren't taking everyone. Only one person. Booth. It was logical to assume they were going to take Booth. He was separated from the group. He was in the dark.

The man with the duct tape paused in his work to tell the man with the gun to be patient, that they had to do this right...to make sure they couldn't be followed. That's why she was being immobilized, along with Cam and Jack. To ensure that they couldn't track the men. The men, who were going to take Booth.

Brennan knew this feeling well. The helplessness. She'd felt it so many times before- on the floor of a karaoke bar, on the other end of a terrifying phone call, in an operating room. She couldn't do it again. She couldn't feel that again. They couldn't leave her here in the marshes and take him to the second location.

A new plan. She still had her voice.

"Take me."


	4. A WellReasoned Argument

**Author's Note: **If strong language offends you, this won't be the chapter for you...actually, this may not be the story for you.

**Chapter 4: A Well-Reasoned Argument.**

It was just a phone call. A simple check-in, letting Hacker know where the investigation stood, so that Hacker could let the Senators know. Fucking political appeasement. It took seconds. He'd stepped away from the scene, gone beyond the lights, because you didn't disturb the squints while they were working. Seconds.

He'd just ended the call when he felt an intense pain. It was familiar. It was unbearable. He was screaming "Enough, enough," but he knew from experience that the words weren't making it out of his mouth. His friends were there, and he should be concerned, but the pain left no room for heroics. His muscles contracted, and he went down. The world tunneled and disappeared, and he was just so thankful.

oOo

Booth regained consciousness slowly, regretfully. The pain, the way his muscles cramped agonizingly, brought tears to his eyes. He forced himself to breathe through it, to try to get a handle on the situation.

He groaned involuntarily as he tried to move, realizing that it was impossible. Not only was he hurt, but he was also restrained- his arms and legs were tied together behind his back. And he wasn't alone. There was a gun butted up against his head, and he found himself wishing that his attacker would use it to knock him back out. One sharp, swift blow to the head, and he'd be back to blissful unconsciousness. That seemed preferable to his current state of writhing in pain.

He kept on breathing, and soon there was room in his mind for more than his physical torture. His head was facing the crime scene, and as his vision cleared, he could see that the others were in trouble. They were all tied up, just like him. There were guns pointed at each of their heads. _Fuck. _Cam and Hodgins were silent; it looked as though their mouths were covered. But not Brennan's. _Sonofabitch._

He could hear everything. Clearly. Bones was talking, and she was telling the men to take her, and there was just _no fucking way_. His mouth was dry, his throat scratchy, but he couldn't let her be the only one speaking.

"Bones." His voice was weak, failing him. "BONES." Stronger this time. Good. He had to buy himself time to plan, but first he had to get her to stop talking herself into more trouble. "SHUT UP." He chose to use his words efficiently.

The man behind him jammed the gun a little harder into his skull and began shouting at one of his companions for more duct tape. Booth figured that was meant for his mouth, which was just fine- as long as they taped hers shut too.

But she just kept speaking. Her words were insane, but her tone was so goddamned rational. She was talking about him.

"He has a little boy- a little boy with curls and big brown eyes, the kind of eyes that are quite effective from an evolutionary standpoint. They make him appear vulnerable; they make others want to meet his needs. And that little boy? He _adores_ his father. Not only does he have his son, but he also has a girlfriend- she's a journalist, and she followed him here from Afghanistan. It's just the kind of story that the public loves."

What the _hell_ was she trying to do? "Bones! Stop talking! Now!"

But she ignored him, like always.

"Do you know what would happen if you take him? His journalist girlfriend and his sweet little boy will go on television and beg everyone to help find Agent Booth, to bring back that little boy's daddy. You will be demonized, your cause will be damaged, every federal agent in the country will be looking for you. You can't take him; it isn't smart."

"BONES. Please. Stop." Where was that duct tape?

"As for Dr. Hodgins, he would be an equally poor choice. He's a newlywed with a baby on the way. His wife is very attractive and charming. People instinctively sympathize with her, and her father is famous. Again, to take Hodgins would be disastrous to your reputation."

And then he understood. He knew what she was doing. She'd somehow decided that these men were going to take one of them and leave the others. She was trying to convince them that it should be her... and they were _listening_ to her. The man behind him was _chuckling._ Panic and anger overtook him, and, for a moment, he was rendered speechless.

"Dr. Saroyan could quite possibly be your worst choice. She adopted an orphaned teenage girl-"

Once again, he found his voice. "ENOUGH. Bones, enough. Look, no one is taking anyone. I was on the phone with the Deputy Director of the goddamned FBI when all of this went down. Every federal agent in a 200 mile radius is on their way here. I don't know who you are, but it would be in your best interest to leave. Now."

It was feeble, but the best his scrambled brain could come up with. Maybe everyone knew it. Maybe the shake in his voice, caused by some combination of pain, fear and frustration, gave him away. The man behind him kept laughing. Brennan kept speaking. Her voice grew calmer, like she was in the middle of one of her fucking lectures. He wanted to scream.

"Can you imagine how that story would play in the media? Your group kidnapping the single mother of an orphaned child? All of these people, every one of them, has someone to whom they are the most important person in the world. They'd be public relations nightmares for you."

"Bones," he was desperate, "you're not dealing with donors at the Jeffersonian. Shut the hell up!" He was punished with a swift kick to the kidney.

And she just kept going.

"I, on the other hand, would be a perfect candidate. I have enough celebrity to make the public take notice, but there is nothing about me that makes me overly-sympathetic. I have money, if ransom is your motive, and there is no one in this world to whom I am the most important person."

It was a lie, and it was spoken so reasonably that he was sure she believed it. It did him in. He started to open his mouth to threaten their attackers. He had lost hope of getting her to cooperate, so he was damned sure going to let everyone know what would happen if they dared to even think of hurting her. He was going to tell them, but the fucking duct tape finally made its appearance. His mouth was covered and hers were the only words left standing.

"You should take me. I am your best option."

The man with the duct tape, Booth realized too late, he was the leader. Having let her finish making her case, the man finally responded.

He smirked and raked his eyes over Bones in a way that caused Booth's gut to twist. His tone was predatory as he said, "So, what you're saying is, no one loves you best."

Booth couldn't see Brennan. The man was blocking her, crouching over her.

"Now, that just can't be true. You have to be someone's little girl, don't you?"

Booth couldn't see her, but he could hear her. On the surface, her voice was defiant, brave, but he had known her too long, and he could hear that tiny little quiver that gave her away. That said she was scared.

"Not really."

The man was laughing again. "Oh baby, for your sake, let's pray that's not the case."

Then the man had some sort of bag, and he was tying it over Bones' head. He picked her up, like she was nothing. And she didn't resist. She didn't fight, and he needed to fight for her, but he couldn't _fucking _move. They were carrying her away. The men with the guns were slashing tires and smashing cell phones, ensuring their head start. They were tossing her in a van he hadn't seen coming, and he was still on the ground, and they were driving her away.


	5. The Scientific Method

**Author's Note:** My continued gratitude to Amilyn, the best beta ever- and to all of you who are taking the time to read this story.

**Chapter 5: The Scientific Method.**

It would be okay. It would be okay. It would be better without the bag over her head, but it would be okay. It wasn't a bag. She should be accurate. It was a pillowcase...that was her best guess. She had already had to make far too many guesses.

She had done the right thing. The men had done the right thing. They took her, and they left the others behind. That was better. Michelle would still have Cam, Angela would still have Hodgins, and Parker would still have Booth. She was grateful for that. She was glad.

She just wished she could breathe. _You _can_ breathe._ She had to be forceful with herself. She could breathe. She just had to stay calm. _Focus on what you can sense._ Small things, one step at a time. She could do this. She could stay grounded.

Observation 1: The pillowcase was soft. Not as soft as her pillowcase at home, but she'd invested in expensive linens, and it would not be practical for kidnappers to do the same. Still, it was soft. Much softer than the burlap bag that been forced over her head in El Salvador. The memory of the way that bag had scratched her face raw had stayed with her over the years. But the pillowcase was soft. It was breathable. She had enough air. It was tied around her neck securely, but she wasn't being strangled. It felt like she was being strangled. But she wasn't. She wasn't. The pillowcase smelled like detergent, and it crossed her mind that they must have washed it before using it to abduct her. How polite. She could gather no further evidence from the pillowcase.

Observation 2: She was uncomfortable. Yes, that was obvious, but sometimes people underestimated the importance of stating the obvious. Her legs and her hands were taped behind her. She tested the restraints, and she could tell they were firm. The man had used several layers of duct tape. It would take some time, but given a rough surface and the ability to position herself correctly, she would be able cut through them. It would be possible. But it wasn't right now. Her muscles ached, and her right arm had gone numb. She tried to wiggle without calling to much attention to herself. She had to keep her blood flowing.

Observation 3: She was in a moving vehicle. It was moving quickly. It was big. Probably a van. She was in the back, another guess- but a good one, because she could move around a little without hitting a seat. She was in the back, but she wasn't in the trunk. She could tell. She knew what it was like to be in a trunk, to have no space, to have the top just inches from your face. She had been there before, but she wasn't there now. She was lucky. Wait. She wasn't in a trunk. She'd been rolled in, and a door had been slammed behind her. There was a door. Not that she could roll out of it in a vehicle moving this quickly...although wasn't that a quick death? Wasn't that better than whatever might happen to her when they got where they were going? No, no. She was not helpless. She would figure out what resources she had at her disposal, and she would take advantage of them when the opportunity presented itself. Which it would. It always had. So, the door. It would be good to know where it was. She tried to maneuver in what she believed to be the direction of the door. Oh...

Observation 4: She wasn't alone in the back of the van. There was a man. Probably guarding the door. He said, "I'd stay still if I were you, sugar pie." Sugar pie? She wondered if there was such a thing. Booth would know. She'd ask him. When she saw him next, she'd ask him. For now, she'd go back to being still. She didn't like the sound of the man's voice. She didn't want his attention.

Observation 5: The other men must be in the van as well, but she couldn't hear them. They weren't talking. They weren't listening to the radio. How many were there? She had seen four. Had there been someone with Booth? She'd heard Booth, but she hadn't seen him. Yes, there'd definitely been someone with him. He'd started yelling, and someone had kicked him. That meant there were at least five men. At least five men, with three guns that she had seen. There could have been more. Those numbers were less than ideal. But numbers changed. She just needed to stay aware and wait.

Brennan's thoughts were interrupted when the car took a swift turn, then came to a jolting stop. Her heart pounded as she wondered if they'd reached their destination. How long had they been on the road? She'd never been good at judging the passing of time. It would be early evening, and she would have thought it was only mid-afternoon. It's why she had to be reminded to eat. They'd been in the car a while, but not for as long as she'd been in the SUV with Booth, driving to Virginia Beach.

The driver got out of the car. He was talking, but she couldn't make out his words. There was a tap on the side of car, and the man in the back with her stood and opened the door. He didn't say anything as he dragged her out by her wrists and ankles.

oOo

Observation 6: They were going north. She was almost sure of it. She had been outside twice, being transferred from one car to another. It kept getting cooler. They were definitely at a higher altitude. The air was thinner. Mountains? Her ears had been popping.

Observation 7: They had been driving longer than she had ridden with Booth. More than four hours. She was laying on a backseat now. Her limbs were numb. Her current driver liked to listen to music while he drove. She'd been hoping for a radio station, something that could possibly clue her in to her location, but he preferred cd's. She knew this one. Creedence. Her abductor had the same taste in music as Booth. It was irrational that she found that comforting, but she did. She felt herself reluctantly lulled to sleep by _Have You Ever Seen The Rain._

oOo

Another stop. Another transfer. As the Creedence fan opened the door beside her head, she heard him speaking to the latest driver.

"Do you know which entrance I'm supposed to take her to?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The Creedence listener sounded peeved. "Your one job is to deliver her, and you don't even know how to do that?" Brennan had to agree. Her new driver appeared to be incompetent.

"Fuck you, Jimmy." And not very articulate.

Creedence fan _(Jimmy)_ handed her over to the new guy.

Observation 8: Her abductors were strong. She was of average weight, but not a single one of these men seemed the slightest burdened by having to lift her. They almost tossed her from one man to another. Excessive weight training? Steroids?

The new guy carried her over to the new vehicle. And promptly closed her in the trunk.

Oh.

Observation 9: She was in a rural area. Maybe the woods. Before the new guy had placed her in the trunk, she could hear the crunching of leaves beneath his feet. That and crickets. Nothing else. No cars, no bodies of water. Also, there had been no light.

Just like there was no light now.

She'd survived in the trunk of a car before. 48 hours, which is almost a miracle when you think about it. Not that she believed in miracles. But if she did. Booth would probably call it a miracle. Angela too. Hodgins would correct them, explain how it really happened. Cam would say something humorous that would put them all back on the same page.

When she got out of this, when she saw them next, perhaps she'd bring it up. It would be interesting to know if they'd act as she'd predicted.

Actually, no. That's not the kind of thing you bring up. Stories of being locked in trunks by foster parents made people uncomfortable. She was always getting those things wrong.

She doubted she'd survive 48 hours in this trunk. The pillowcase- it would make breathing more difficult.

Tears were running down her cheeks. When had she started crying? She wished she could bring up her hands and wipe them away. Crying was possibly the least productive thing she could be doing right now. The moisture was pooling at the edges of the pillowcase where it was wrapped against her neck. It would end up making her skin raw. Maybe this wasn't so different from before.

Brennan tried to stop the tears, tried to keep breathing, tried to keep thinking like an investigator...like a scientist. She found herself missing Jimmy and _Have You Ever Seen The Rain. _She wanted the car to stop.

And then it did.

The trunk was opened, and the relief that washed over her was so intense that it eclipsed any feelings of fear. She tried to suck in the fresh air through the material covering her face.

Then someone- the driver?- was pinching her cheek. She couldn't see a face, the pillowcase was opaque. But she could hear the voice.

"Welcome home, baby girl."


	6. The Superhero Fallacy

**Author's Note: **Still grateful to Amilyn and all the readers ;)

**Chapter 6: The Superhero Fallacy.**

Time was passing. Moments, vital moments, were slipping right out of his hands. The darkness was beginning to wane. Soon it would be dawn. The morning would come, and his partner, his best friend, would be in the hands of men with guns. He would still be here, hours behind. Hours that could make all the difference.

Booth thrashed helplessly, as he'd been doing periodically since the van carrying Brennan and her abductors disappeared. He was useless. Powerless. He was bound by duct tape. Fucking duct tape- like his old man had used to repair everything from a leaking pipe to a dangling car mirror. It should have been nothing. He should have been able to free himself.

His curse was muffled by the tape still over his mouth. When he found those guys _(when, not if)_ he was going to arrange for some alone time with whichever one of the fuckers was responsible for the taser. Time had passed, but his muscles still wouldn't cooperate. He found it impossible to move himself into a position that might allow him to work his way through the restraints. No matter how often he repeated to himself that the men had _Bones_, no matter how vividly he imagined all of the things they could be doing to her, his body wouldn't stop letting him down.

The man with the taser. He would pay.

oOo

It was Cam, in the end, who managed to free herself first. Booth didn't know how she did it. She'd been so quiet the entire time. She was the only one who hadn't made a sound. He hadn't even realized she'd been close to getting through the restraints until he saw her on her feet, making her way to Hodgins.

He watched her free the bug man, and he watched as the two of them made their way slowly to him. They hadn't been tasered, but being hogtied for hours takes its toll. They were approaching him, and he found himself inexplicably angry. Cam wasn't supposed to be the one to free them; that was his job. But if she was capable of freeing herself, then why the hell hadn't she done it earlier? And why the fuck weren't they moving any faster right now? And why was Cam running around untying everybody like some goddamned modern-day Florence Nightingale when her first priority should be contacting the authorities, letting them know that Brennan was missing? Cam had been a cop for Christsake, she knew what all of that wasted time meant for Bones. She _knew._

By the time they reached him, Booth's eyes were shooting daggers. He was so agitated, he wished he could crawl out of his skin. They pulled the tape off his mouth, but he was too angry to speak. They moved on to his arms and legs. Cam stayed silent, but not Hodgins.

The other man's blue eyes were dazed, his limbs were shaking from the impact of being restrained. His tone was disbelieving as he practically whispered, "They took Dr. B."

Booth was glad, then, that his hands were still taped behind his back, because he knew without a doubt that had they been free, he would have punched his friend. Hard. Because he _knew_ they'd taken her. He'd fucking watched it happen. He didn't need some scared shitless scientist giving him the highlights. He snarled.

And he managed a little prayer of thanks for the duct tape. Because there was a part of him that knew his anger at Cam and Jack was sorely misplaced, and he was grateful to be denied the chance to act on it.

Cam had some sort of knife. God knows where she had gotten it. Anyway, she had his limbs free in no time. She was staring at him like she was waiting for him to weigh in on their current predicament. Well, this wasn't a fucking episode of _Oprah,_ and he didn't exactly have time to process what had happened. She could save it for Sweets.

He tried to push himself into a standing position, but between being tied-up and electrified, his muscles had become useless. He finally spoke to his companions, "Up. Now."

Cam was cautious, and Hodgins was stunned, but they wrapped his arms around their shoulders and dragged him upright. He nodded in the direction of his vehicle, and they made their way to it. He jerked open the unlocked door and flung himself into the seat. Grabbing his radio, he began to feel like himself again. He put out a distress call and a request for back-up. The dispatcher responded, and he provided details of the kidnapping. Finally, he was doing something. Finally, someone would be looking for her.

oOo

He spent about twenty minutes on the radio relaying information and organizing a search. When he finally shut it off, he spotted Cam and Hodgins down by the body. Right, there had been a case. There had been a reason they were here. He tested his legs and found them slightly recovered. He shuffled carefully over to the squints.

Cam's lips were pursed in determination, her eyes were flashing. She was surrounded by swabs and evidence bags. Hodgins' hands were still shaking, but he had his own little sample collection going.

"What are you doing?"

Cam didn't even look up. "We're trapped here until back-up arrives. We're processing the scene." She focused on the evidence in front of her in a way that reminded him eerily of Bones.

Hodgins, on the other hand, was capable of meeting his gaze. "This has to be the reason, right?" The scientist's voice shook. "This has to be why they took her. If we figure this out, if we solve this case, we'll find her. It's the best we can do right now. Right?"

Cam kept her eyes trained on the remains and her voice hard. "Yes, Dr. Hodgins. This is the best we can do right now."

Booth watched his friends work in silence for a moment, then he walked over to Hodgins and clasped the man's shoulder. Hodgins turned to face him, and Booth forced a small smile. "Angela's going to be worried. It's been too long, and she'll know something is wrong. Come on, man, we'll use my radio while we wait for the local cops. We'll have dispatch let her know that you're okay."

Hodgins shook his head, returning to his samples. "If they tell her I'm okay, then she'll know there was a reason to think I wouldn't be. She'll know something more is wrong, and she'll go crazy wondering what has happened. Getting a message to her isn't good enough. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her what happened to Dr. B. I'll wait until the cops get here with a phone." He smiled up at Booth sadly. "Who knows, maybe by the time the others get here, they'll have some news on Brennan. When I talk to Angie, maybe I'll be able to tell her that everything is okay."

"Hodgins, I think Angela would-"

But Hodgins cut him off. He made his face a mirror image of Cam's. "No. Angela would want me doing this, the best we can do. She'd want me working to find her best friend."

Booth nodded, then sat back in the sand. This was the best he could he do. "Okay, people, tell me what we've got on this vic."


	7. Illusions of Control

**Chapter 7: Illusions of Control. **

The men were overly familiar. "Baby." "Baby girl." "Sugar Pie." People didn't really talk like that, not to other adults. She found it unsettling. She wanted it to stop. If this were a normal situation, if she were home, she'd narrow her eyes at them- tell them that they could call her _Doctor_ Brennan. But she had no leverage here. Appropriate forms of address was not a battle worth picking.

Once again she found herself being pulled out into the night...unless it was morning. She couldn't tell. She didn't feel the sun on her skin, couldn't see light through the cotton covering her face, but she was so disoriented. She couldn't tell.

Someone, Mr. "Baby Girl" she assumed, was lifting her into his arms. He was carrying her the way fathers on television carry their young children to bed. Again, she was struck by her captors' strength. One more thing about this situation that put the odds out of her favor.

As she was being carried, she tried yet again to get a sense of her location. Cool air. The sound of crunching leaves. Birds, there were birds calling- if she was correct and it was still night, then they had to be a nocturnal species. Nothing else. Not a single distinctive sound.

They walked for quite a distance. Wherever she was going, it wasn't exactly close to where the last car had been parked. They were going downhill. She could tell by the man's gait. His steps were small, he was leaning back. Bracing himself. The hill was steep. Maybe she'd been correct about the mountains.

Suddenly, they were somewhere. The man shifted her weight so that he could open a door with creaking hinges. Wherever they were was only slightly warmer than the outdoors. A short distance, then there was a second door. This time, she could tell that he was punching in numbers on a keypad. A door that unlocked via code. Another strike against her.

The door slammed hard behind them, no creaky hinges on this one. Steel, she surmised. It's probably made of steel. They were going down stairs. Steep, like the hill. Narrow. Her feet rubbed uncomfortably against the railing. Now, the stairs creaked. She'd lost count of her observations, but she added a new one to the list- the door was the nicest thing about this particular building.

It was cold where she was going. And damp. There was a musty smell that permeated her senses. Underground.

They reached the bottom of the staircase, and the man dropped her on the floor. She didn't have far to fall, but without the ability to catch herself, the damage was maximized. She hadn't broken anything, but she could already feel knots forming on the side of her skull and her right elbow. She could do without additional injuries.

She wondered if she'd just be left like this, and she had nearly decided to risk asking a question when she was roughly flipped over on her stomach. Mr. Baby Girl jammed his knee into her back to hold her in place. He began cutting away at her restraints, and she wondered if this might be her opportunity. If her limbs were going to be free, even briefly, she might be able to catch him off guard and give herself enough room to flee. Her self-defense training was running like a loop in her brain, but so was the memory of the steel door controlled by a keypad...the multiple men she had encountered during this experience, their strength, their guns...the lack of information she had been able to gather about her location and its apparent remoteness.

The rational thing to do was not to fight unless the man attempted to harm her physically. She needed more time to observe. It's not just about escaping. It's about escaping smart. Escaping with a chance of succeeding. It went against her instincts, but as her hands and feet were released, she allowed them to fall limply to the ground. If she were honest with herself, any attempts she made at self-defense right now would be ineffective. Her muscles were weakened from restraint and immobility.

She lay tensely on the ground, waiting for the man's next move. He was bringing her hands back behind her back, this time securing them a zip tie. Unfortunate. It would have been easier to free herself from duct tape.

He reached down and pinched her butt, laughing to himself. If she were home, she would have broken his hand. If this had been a normal case, and this man some suspect who'd tried something like that, Booth's eyes would have flashed. His nostrils would have flared, and he would have yelled "Hey!" in that sharp tone that let people know that he was serious. He would have taken a dangerous step forward, and she would have intervened, because she didn't need him to fight her battles. Then she would have broken the man's hand. Just to prove it.

None of that was going to happen now, though. Right now, the man could do whatever he wanted, so he did. Then he walked away, and she reminded herself that it was only for now. She wasn't simply powerless- she was strategically powerless. She heard the heavy door close, and she stayed motionless on the floor, waiting for someone else to come.

But they never did.

Eventually, she pushed herself into a seated position- she wasn't yet able to support her weight standing. The floor was made of dirt, that was the one thing her time on the ground had allowed her to ascertain. She began to bicycle her legs, trying to regain feeling. She'd been left alone. She had a window of time to explore her surroundings without being watched, and she needed to take advantage.

Finally, she was able to stand. As soon as she had done it, though, she wished she hadn't. She had no sense of space, no sense of time. She was vulnerable, standing as she was, with no idea of the layout of the room or her position in it. Was she standing in the middle? Was she near a wall? Darkness was pressing around her. It wasn't just that the man hadn't removed the pillowcase from her head. Where she was, it was dark. Did that mean that it was still night, or, more likely, that natural light simply couldn't reach her?

She was fighting to stay present. Again. Because this couldn't be happening. It could be one of her nightmares. Except that it wasn't. Things like this could and did happen. It was happening to her. Giving in to some sort of delusion would not help her.

She began to ease herself backwards, hands out behind her, hoping to find a wall. Twenty steps, and she did just that. Cinderblocks. She started tracing her way across the room- slowly, because her legs kept cramping. It was large, longer than it was wide. It seemed empty. She was hoping to encounter another door, one that led outside, one that wasn't made of steel, but such a door didn't appear to exist.

Banging. Someone was knocking, pounding on the door. She jumped, her heart racing, then she sank down to the floor, trying to make herself small. She waited for the door to open, for yet another man to come. She realized she was closing her eyes, which was ridiculous considering that she couldn't see anything anyway.

She waited, but no one came. Had she waited long enough? How long had she been here? What if no one ever came? What if she was just left here, and no one ever told her why? Her breath came in spurts, and she knew she was losing control. She needed a way to gauge the passing of time. When had she last had water? In the SUV with Booth. She had drunk a bottle of water, and he'd been irritated when she'd asked him to stop so that she could use the bathroom. That had been an hour outside of Virginia Beach. Around 6:00 PM. She had been abducted around 9:00 PM. It was at least 2:00 or 3:00 AM. She had fallen asleep at one point. Why had she done that? That stupid song. Had it been for hours or minutes? Hours or minutes?

Water. She was trying to base it on water. She did a quick self-assessment. Her muscles were cramping, but that could be attributed to her time in restraints. She had a headache, dry mouth. Her skin was dry. She was vaguely nauseous. She was definitely disoriented, but that could also be caused by her current situation. Nine hours? Ten? It definitely wasn't more than twelve. So it was somewhere between 2:00 and 6:00 AM. There. She had a fact, something to cling to.

She resumed her tour of the perimeter. It hit her that nine or ten hours was quite a while to go without water. She would have seventy-two hours max. Would these men bring her water, or would they let her die of dehydration? She remembered the tears she cried in the trunk, shaking her head in disgust. An unnecessary expenditure of moisture.

There was more pounding on the door, and again she instinctively crouched on the ground. It just went on and on. She didn't understand it. Why didn't they just come in? Were they expecting her to open the door and let them in? The thought made her laugh. But it wouldn't stop, and she couldn't think. She remembered the birds calling outside and the dirt on the floor. Hodgins would have been able to use those things to tell her where she was. She would feel better if he were here with her.

What a horrible thought. She had never been a very good friend.

The pounding stopped, but she didn't try to stand again. Enough. She had done enough for now. There would be no saving herself tonight.


	8. Choose Your Own Adventure

**Author's Note: **Have I mentioned that Amilyn is the best beta ever? Because she is.

**Chapter 8: Choose Your Own Adventure.**

It was morning by the time back-up arrived. Cam and Hodgins had been working diligently with the body, and Booth had worn a path between them and his SUV, alternating between demanding answers from the team and demanding updates from the dispatcher. The squints, they never let him down. They'd determined that the remains did belong to a male in his early fifties, and that stabbing was the likely cause of death. Hodgins had been able to tell him that the man had been murdered, then dumped in the marshes approximately. From the rate of decomposition, they determined that death would have occurred approximately seventy-two hours earlier.

Harvey McIntosh, prominent member of the Freedom First movement in Virginia, had been reported missing by his wife after he'd never returned from a political rally in Virginia Beach. The rally had been held at 3:00 PM, three days ago. It was circumstantial, but it was enough for Booth to reasonably conclude that their vic and Harvey McIntosh were one in the same. Enough for him to decide that he wasn't leaving Virginia Beach until he'd tracked down every last member of Freedom First and figured out the connection between Harvey's murder and Brennan's abduction. He was not leaving here without his partner.

Booth was speaking to one of the local cops, trying to get a sense of the major players in Freedom First, when he caught sight of Hodgins borrowing a cell phone. Angela. The other man had wanted to wait, to talk to her himself rather than having a message relayed by a stranger. He'd wanted to have good news, to be able to tell her that it was over. Booth edged closer, and he could hear a hysterical Angela on the other end of the line. He met Hodgins' eyes and made a motion indicating that he'd be willing to take the phone and answer Angela's questions. Hodgins shook his head, indicating that it wouldn't be a good idea.

She'd warned them. She'd asked them not to go, and they hadn't listened, because it was absurd. They hadn't taken her seriously, because who takes that kind of thing seriously? Even if they had, they wouldn't have been able to stay home, to turn their backs on their professional duties, just because a friend had a feeling. But he would give anything, _anything, _to be able to go back and do just that. He wanted a do-over. He wanted to go right back to that moment in the lab when Angela said "No." He knew exactly what he'd do differently. He wouldn't ignore her; he'd give her a knowing look, then he'd call Hacker. It would've had to have been Hacker, what with all the political undertones. So he would've called up goofy-ass Hacker, and he would've said, "Sorry boss, but the squints and I are going to have to take a pass on this one." Hacker would've thought he was joking, and they would've gone back and forth for a while. Eventually, it would've become clear that Booth was serious, and the boss would've been _pissed._ But Booth wouldn't have given in. He might've been suspended, maybe even fired, but it would have been okay. He would have hung-up the phone, shrugged his shoulders, winked at Angela, and told Bones to pack-up because they were going out for Thai.

Except none of that would have ever happened, right down to the Thai food, because he and Bones didn't grab dinner alone together anymore. And he was wasting time. Again. Hodgins kept trying to calm Angela, and Booth realized that he had phone calls of his own to make, and he had to do it now. He had to do it now, so he could focus all of his attention on bringing his partner home.

oOo

He managed to reach both of the people with whom he'd needed to speak. He'd had to borrow a cell from one of the locals, but apparently people were less likely to check caller ID when they were being awakened at an ungodly hour. He'd spoken first with Russ Brennan. He'd been looking for Max, but Russ said the older man was unavailable. Booth had explained about the case and the kidnapping, letting him know about some of the theories and investigative strategies they were developing. Russ was understandably upset, he wanted to make sure that Booth thought the kidnapping and the case were connected, and Booth assured him that it was the most logical explanation. Russ had gone silent, and Booth felt for him, but he really needed to get off the phone. He'd told Russ to have Max call him with the questions and death threats he was sure to have. He told him he'd find his little sister. Russ continued to say nothing, and Booth hung up. He loved Bones, but conversations with the Brennan-Keenans always made him uneasy.

He didn't have time to ruminate very long on his partner's family dynamics, because he still had to check-in with Hannah. His girlfriend had been touchingly concerned. She'd come to consider Brennan a friend. Their conversation was brief, but productive. Hannah had agreed to use her media connections to both help gather information about Harvey McIntosh and to get the word out about Brennan's kidnapping.

He'd no sooner disconnected his call when one of the Virginia Field Agents, he hadn't caught her name, approached him to let him know that they were bringing in members of Freedom First and Harvey McIntosh's family for questioning. He followed her to her vehicle, determined to take lead on the interrogations. Cam came up to him just as he was climbing in the passenger side.

"Hodgins and I are getting a ride back to D.C. He needs to be with Angela right now, and we've done all we can do here. We'll be a better resource to the investigation at the lab. I'll contact you as soon as we get there to coordinate efforts."

"Of course."

She paused for a moment before staring at him intensely. "I know I don't have to say this."

"But you will."

She smiled in acknowledgement of their pattern, then she sobered once again. "Find her, Seeley."

He stepped forward and wrapped Cam in an uncharacteristic embrace. "Count on it, Camille."


	9. Unreliable Narrators

**Chapter 9: Unreliable Narrators.**

Booth leaned his forehead against the cool concrete of the building. He hadn't slept for more than a couple hours in the last two days. Two days. Two _fucking wasted _days. He kicked the wall with all the strength he had left. He wished there was something around for him to shoot.

He'd been so sure. He'd known, _known,_ that this case and Brennan's abduction were connected. Find the killer, find his partner. It had been his mantra for forty-eight hours. It had kept him focused. It had kept him sane. It was all he had- the only thing that made sense. The FBI, the local police, the Jeffersonian team, Hannah and her contacts, they'd all been focusing on Harvey McIntosh and Freedom First...and they hadn't found a damn thing.

He kicked the wall harder this time. He thought he'd heard a bone crack. Good.

Two days of road blocks and search warrants and interviews. Two days of scouring the area and pouring through political records. Harvey McIntosh had plenty of enemies. His right-wing rants had garnered him plenty of attention, but as much as that had made people hate him, it hadn't made anyone kill him. He had been expecting to receive the Movement's support in the upcoming gubernatorial primaries, but apparently one of the group's young upstarts had made a play for power and had succeeded. Harvey had been angry, had planned to publicly break with Freedom First and reveal some of the seedier aspects of the group's inner-workings.

It had been his son. His pathetic, sheep of a son. Apparently Harvey had turned him into a true believer. Adam McIntosh knew what his father planned to do, and he had to stop him. He was convinced that Freedom First would be the country's salvation. He couldn't let his father destroy it. He'd stabbed him, dumped his body in the salt marshes. Booth had just taken his confession.

He'd closed the case, but he'd never cared less. Here was the truth: he didn't give a _fuck_ who had killed Harvey McIntosh. His partner. Bones. She was the only thing that mattered. Adam's confession and two days of dead ends meant that there was no conspiracy to cover up Harvey's murder. No one with a vested interest in slowing down this investigation. No one with a reason to take his partner. He had no one to hunt down.

He had nothing.

This time he used his forearm on the wall. Two hours had lapsed between Brennan's abduction and his first call to dispatch. They could have gone anywhere with that kind of head start. And he'd spent two days and all of his resources chasing the wrong goddamned leads.

He was willing to make any possible deal with God if it meant that he wasn't too late. The only thing to do was to go back to D.C. and regroup. Start again, from the beginning. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't leave without her; he'd promised himself that when they went home, it would be together.

Those promises to himself? They'd really been promises to her. He didn't break promises to Bones. It was one of his rules. It was _the_ rule. And it was about to be broken.

oOo

It was the banging again. It startled her out of her less than peaceful sleep. At least, she thought it had. Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe the banging was part of her dream. It was becoming increasingly difficult to discern reality from nightmares.

She reminded herself that her disorientation had a direct physical cause. Dehydration. Despite all of their knocking, no one had opened that steel door since Mr. Baby Girl had left. There had been no food, no water. She hadn't moved from her spot against the wall, and she'd faded in and out of consciousness. She also had a slight head injury- not good combined with dehydration. She'd lost all ability to track time, but she knew it had been more than twelve hours- maybe more than twenty-four. Her skin was so tight that it was beginning to shrivel.

Severe dehydration could cause delirium. Maybe the banging wasn't real. Maybe the darkness wasn't real.

No. She was sure of the darkness, if nothing else.

She'd stopped wondering who her captors were, what they wanted, a long time ago. She'd spent some time thinking about Booth, Cam and Hodgins. About what they'd do when they got free. About how they'd get free. She'd tried to imagine how Angela would react to the news that she'd been right. Although being proved correct is typically accompanied by a feeling of triumph, she doubted that would be true in this case. She'd hoped that Hodgins would get her a caramel apple chai from Teatime. That would make her happy again.

But that had been a while ago. Now, she mainly focused on how likely she was to die. She was trying to be scientific about it, to give serious consideration to the variables and probabilities, but it was getting more difficult to be precise. Dehydration wasn't the worst death she could envision. It would be painful, and rescue would certainly be preferable, but it might be better than what would happen if the men came back...

More banging. It was making her crazy. Had she drifted off? She was trying to remember when she'd last worn a watch, why she'd ever stopped, when she heard the slam of a heavy, steel door. She scuttled closer to the wall, flattening herself against it. The banging hadn't been an empty threat this time.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Men. Two of them. Could she still trust her perceptions?

She began to shake, but it could have just been one more symptom of dehydration.

They reached the end of the stairwell. Something metallic clattered on the floor. She stopped herself from imagining what it could be.

They were coming closer, moving into her space. She was trapped, blinded, helpless. She forced herself to remember that she was being strategic; that she would fight when it was time to fight. She pushed away the thought that she didn't stand a chance in her current state. Not against two men.

One of them stopped in front of her. He smelled sweaty, like someone who worked outside. She could feel him staring at her.

The other one, he was coming around to her side, crouching next to her,

She would not cower. She would not shrink away.

His hands were at her wrists, cutting through the zip tie. He brought her hands in front of her, re-restrained them.

They weren't here to kill her now. Why would you restrain someone who would soon be dead?

His hands were at her neck, and she instantly knew what people meant when they said their skin crawled.

He had a hard candy in his mouth. She could hear it against her ear, clattering against his teeth. Cinnamon. Somehow worse than sweat.

She wished she could make herself stop trembling, hated that he could feel her weakness.

His hands lingered at her neck, stroking down to her shoulder.

She might vomit. Dehydration.

Then he was untying the pillowcase over her head. Before she had time to react, he snatched it off, and there was a flash of light from the other man's hands. So much light, after all the darkness...the impact was the same- she was blinded.

Then they were gone. Back up the stairs. Before she could see them. More quickly than she thought possible. But maybe she was thinking in slow motion.

They took the pillowcase with them, and they left...food? The metal, it was a tray with water and rice. Maybe it was poisoned, but she moved toward it anyway.

There were worse ways to die.


	10. Where to Begin

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all of the reviews, alerts and favorites. Also, special thanks to Amilyn for speed-betaing over the weekend.

**Chapter 10: Where to Begin.**

He rode back to D.C. in the passenger seat of his SUV- Bones' seat. Some eager young agent had offered to drive him. It broke another of his rules, letting someone else drive his vehicle, but you know what? Fuck his rules. The agent, some kid who reminded him of Sweets, obviously wanted to talk about the case. He was asking Booth all sorts of questions about post-abduction protocol and likely outcomes.

Booth clenched and unclenched his fists slowly. Agent Whatshisface was acting like this was a fucking case study, something out of a textbook in Quantico. He wanted to yell at him, to yank him out of the car and pound him into the ground, to tell him that the _"victim", _was his _partner_. He wanted to throw him against the side of the SUV and tell him that yes, he damn well knew what it meant to have gotten nowhere after forty-eight hours. He wanted to scream in his face and ask him why he didn't pay attention to the gossip, why he didn't know that he _loved_ her- that she was _his._ Why didn't he know that Booth didn't want to hear anything now that wouldn't lead to putting Bones right back in his passenger seat where she belonged?

He closed his eyes to shut the man out, and he awoke several hours later to the sight of the Washington Monument out the windshield. The Mall. There was a coffee cart at the Mall, not too far from the Jeffersonian. Eight months ago, at the airport, they'd agreed to meet at that cart when they returned from their respective time-outs. They weren't supposed to be here. He didn't belong in the passenger seat of this SUV, and she didn't belong on this continent. Not yet. She should have been in Maluku. God, he'd been so worried about her there. He'd imagined all of the things that could've gone wrong, all the ways she could've been hurt...but she'd been safe there, with her bones. She should still be there, and he should still be looking forward to that day, four months from now, at the coffee cart.

He pounded his fist on the dash, startling his driver. Booth didn't try to explain, didn't even glance over at the other agent. "Turn here," he directed. "I want to go directly to the Jeffersonian."

oOo

He wasn't sure what he expected to find at the lab (the lab that wasn't supposed to function without _her_), but he definitely wasn't expecting Sweets to be holding court on the platform, surrounded by squints with stacks of paper.

All eyes were on him as he approached. He saw Angela's eyes darken before she turned away from him. She blamed him. For taking her Bren away from her bones. For making her..._not safe._ He didn't belong here. He never really had. But these were her people, and he needed them. He couldn't find her on his own. Obviously.

Sweets rose to meet him.

"Agent Booth," he was all business, "I hope you don't mind, but when I heard that Dr. Brennan's disappearance appeared unrelated to the McIntosh murder, I asked the Jeffersonian team to help me start sorting through emails, messages on the fansites related to Brennan's books, appointments on calendars..."

Sweets trailed off, and Booth just stared, because the anger was fading and being replaced by despair, and it was too early for that. Forty-eight hours was late, but it wasn't too late. He was at the beginning, not the end, but he had trouble remembering that. He felt paralyzed, and he was just _so grateful_ that Sweets had been able to do something.

But despite all of his claims to the contrary, Sweets didn't really understand Booth all that well, and he misread the staring. He missed the gratitude, taking it for disapproval.

"I mean, I know that I should have waited for you to get her and tell us what we should do. I know that, but we all just...we needed to start somewhere. It's hard to know where to start, because we don't know what motivated the kidnappers, and I'm not an investigator, but I thought...You know, if someone stood out as obviously dangerous..."

Booth knew it was time to find his tongue; he needed to let Sweets know he'd done well. He needed to appear confident. These were her people, and they needed him too.

Booth nodded and forced himself to sound authoritative. "Good job, Sweets." The psychologist nearly sagged in relief, and Booth knew that authoritative was the attitude everyone was hoping for. He looked at the others. "Alright, people, let's hear it. What have we got so far?"

oOo

Two hours with the squints, and the desperation was becoming palpable. Nothing had stood out in any of the emails they'd looked through. The perusal of Brennan's fansites had yielded a few crazies. Booth had sent a few agents to check them out, but he knew it would lead nowhere. He'd run checks on everyone who worked in the lab and had interviewed most of them; Hacker was doing the same thing at the FBI. They hadn't found a single clue that spoke to motive. Sweets was right, without an understanding of motive, they had nothing. Not this time.

He needed a place to start. Something to pursue. He'd never had more to lose and less to go on. Crimes didn't work this way. People weren't the victims of well-planned, well-executed abductions without there being a _reason_. People didn't abduct someone right out from under the nose of a federal agent without a hint as to why.

He and Cam had co-opted one of Angela's smartboards, and started a list of every person who had known about their trip to Virginia Beach. They'd mapped out every possible line of inquiry, but just like with the obsessive fans, Booth knew they were off-base. It just didn't feel right. Teams were out conducting interviews, but all he could think about was how they were just wasting more time and how those men had looked at his partner before they'd taken her. It was killing him.

Metaphorically. It might literally be killing her.

He jumped when he felt his phone vibrate. His first reaction was anger, because the FBI had been able to replace his phone so quickly, but no one had been able to get his partner back. He let it pass, though, and pulled his eyes from his lists; He had a text. A number he didn't recognize. His heart began to pound. He had a feeling. He flipped his phone open.

A reason, starting to take shape.

"_A father for his daughter. You have two days. We'll be in touch."_

Max. Booth had called Russ and told him that his sister was missing, and Max fucking Keenan had never called him back. He'd never called him back, and they'd done nothing but lose time.

Max, who had never been anything but trouble.

Fury. There was nothing left but fury.


	11. Everyone's a Business Man

**Chapter 11: Everyone's a Businessman**.

She was back. It was a silly saying. Booth used it sometimes. _"We're back, baby."_ She never asked where they had gone, though sometimes she wondered. She always forgave him the "baby." Maybe she even liked it. Now, though, she understood what he meant. Because she felt it. She was back.

It was the water that had brought her back. She forced herself to sip it slowly rather than gulp it down all at once. She had water, and it wouldn't be dehydration that killed her. She had rice, and it wouldn't be starvation that killed her either. Her thirst and hunger had been satisfied, and she remembered the flash of light. That flash, it was important. It meant that maybe she wouldn't be killed at all.

She wasn't herself when she'd seen the flash. There was no room in her thoughts for anything other than the thirst, the disorienting darkness, the men...but now she knew what it was. A camera. They were taking a photograph, and there was only one reason that made any sense: proof of life.

She leaned back against the cinderblock wall, still clutching her water glass. The room was completely devoid of light, but without her oppressive hood, her eyes were beginning to adjust. Her thoughts made room, and she remembered information she'd received from countless seminars over the course of her career.

In many parts of the world, kidnap-for-ransom is an integral part of the local economy. She hadn't known that, couldn't imagine it, back when she was a graduate student on her way to El Salvador. She was really just a child back then, and although she'd come to understand plenty about the darker side of life, it hadn't been enough. She hadn't been prepared for that burlap sack over her face; she'd believed them when they told her she was going to die. She hadn't known her part then, hadn't understood that the kidnapping was a means to an end. In that case, the end hadn't been money, but that in no way diminished the fact that her abduction was a business deal.

Just like it was now. She was an adult who, in the years since El Salvador, had determined that her safety was her own responsibility. She wouldn't shy away from the places that needed her, but she wouldn't be stupid about it either. Well-funded digs provided their personnel with kidnap and ransom insurance. Yes, that was a business too. There were seminars, workshops on how to avoid being taken and what to do if you couldn't, and she had attended them all.

They always started with proof of life- photos or videos that would be used to prove that you were, indeed, still breathing and, therefore, still up for negotiation. So the photograph, it was important. She was still up for negotiation. She was part of a business deal, and that was something she understood. She didn't know what they wanted in return for her, but she didn't need to know. She just needed to play her part until they reached a price.

She smiled to herself, relieved that she had been right when she'd decided not to fight. If she had, if she'd become too difficult, they might have altered their plan and killed her anyway. If she was cooperative, she would be kept alive, because it's never smart to kill your bargaining chip. She began to recite all of the other things she'd learned from those Kidnap & Ransom Specialists over the years- eat the food they give you, don't make eye contact, don't allow yourself to become depressed, exercise.

She could do all of those things. She nodded her head firmly, shaking off the quivering woman who had been imagining all the ways she might die. She had no more patience for that version of herself. She needed a schedule. She didn't know how much time had passed since her kidnapping, but she would make an educated guess. It was the evening of August 3rd, 2010 when she was abducted. She'd been left wherever she was in the early morning hours of August 4th. She had slept, she'd awakened. It was August 5th. She didn't know if that was the truth or not, but she needed to position herself. It may not be a fact, but she needed it to become the truth.

She marked the date on the floor, grateful it was made of dirt. This is what she would do, she decided, each time she awoke. She'd mark the day. Then, she would write a new chapter of her book in her head. She'd wait for the food she had to believe would come. She wouldn't look the men who brought it in the eye. After food, exercise. Yoga. It would keep her strong without burning too many calories. After yoga, she'd make lists- places to visit, books to read. She'd plan Angela's baby shower. Finally, she'd sleep, preparing herself to do it all again, each day, until a price was reached. Until she was sent back home.

oOo

Booth ignored Cam's questions as he stalked out of Angela's office, looking for the artist herself.

"Angela," he barked, more harshly than he intended, "I need you to trace a number."

Her eyes grew wide, and she was up and off the platform in an instant, racing toward him. "There's a number to trace?" She couldn't hide the excitement and relief in her tone. "The kidnappers contacted you?"

He didn't answer, leading her back to her office, back to her computers. He fed her the number from which the text had been sent, even though he had absolutely no faith that it would be traceable. Angela got to work, and he turned on his heel.

Once again, it was Cam who followed him. "Wait, Booth, where are you going? What was the message?"

Booth couldn't slow down, couldn't stop moving. "Call me the moment you have something. I need to get back to the Hoover." He knew he was leaving behind a group of very frustrated scientists, but he didn't have time to explain. Hell, even if he wanted to, he _couldn't_ explain.

He found his SUV in the unending maze that was the Jeffersonian parking structure. Shutting himself inside, he pulled out his phone once again. This time, he let himself take a long look at the photo accompanying the text.

His partner, looking like a ghost in the flash from the camera. He could only see her head, so he had no idea what was happening to her from the neck down. Her face was turned, her eyes squeezed shut to block out the light. It had to be dark where she was. He beat his hand on the steering wheel at the thought of Bones alone in the dark. He pounded it again at the thought that she might not be alone.

He forwarded Angela the picture, realizing that she could analyze it, search for clues as to its location. From what he could tell, though, Brennan's face took up the entire frame. He looked at again, more closely this time. He could see a knot near her temple, a hint of a bruise spreading across her forehead. They had hurt her. There was no one to punish, so he punished his steering wheel. Then, he started the car, because he needed to make a call, and he needed to get out of this godforsaken garage with its lack of cell reception.

The moment he pulled out into the daylight, he pressed the appropriate buttons on the phone. The man he was looking for answered on the second ring.

"What the _fuck_, Russ? Where is your father, and what has that bastard done?"

There was a heavy pause before Russ finally spoke. "Have you found Tempe? Is she there with you?"

"No, you son of a bitch, she's not here with me. I haven't found her, because I spent two days chasing down people who didn't take her. I just got a fucking text message from the people who have her, wanting to trade her for your father. So here's what's going to happen now, Russ. You're going to tell me where Max Keenan is. You're going to get him to me, and I'm going to make that trade."

The other man swore under his breath. "I can't tell you where he is, Booth."

A horn sounded behind him as he barely missed plowing into Honda trying to turn left. "You _will_ tell me where he is."

"I can't," Russ sounded defeated. "I can't. I-I don't know. He's with your people."


	12. Everything Put Together Falls Apart

**Author's Note: **So many thanks to Amilyn for her help on this one.

**Chapter 12: Everything Put Together Falls Apart.**

Booth swerved onto the shoulder of the road and threw the SUV into park. He no longer trusted himself behind the wheel, not when the only thing he could see was an anger-fueled, red haze. Unable to stay confined, he got out of the vehicle, slammed the driver-side door and began pacing the shoulder.

When he spoke, his tone was low and deadly. "What do you mean, 'with my people'? What _the hell_ does that mean?"

"He's in protective custody." Booth hear the break in the other man's voice. Even over the phone, he could tell Russ was barely hanging on. "He didn't tell me much. God, Booth, you know how he is. All he said was the prosecutor, the one from his trial, she approached him about testifying against one of his old associates. That's all I know. He called me, he told me what I just told you, and he was gone. That's all I know. None of this was supposed to touch Tempe. She was supposed to be away from this, on an island, in the middle of goddamned ocean. I-"

Booth cut him off. Something had just occurred to him, and he hated himself for how little time he had spent with his partner recently. "Did she know, Russ? Bones said that your father had gone to live with you, to help with Hayley. Was she lying about that, or did she really have no idea?"

"She didn't know. She was gone. You know how it was, you couldn't even call her. Dad didn't want her to know. He said she'd worry for no reason, and it would be safer for her if she didn't know. It was supposed to be over before she ever got back, and she never had to know. Hayley has been sick, and Dad had been spending weekends down here before he left. He wrote to Tempe that he was staying with us in order to explain his absence at the Jeffersonian."

Booth kicked the tire of his SUV and pounded the hood. Max and Russ. If he could actually get his hands on either of them, he'd beat them into a bloody pulp. He shook the phone in his fist, wishing he could do the same to the man on the other line. "Did either of you think for a moment that perhaps you owed Temperance the truth? Did either of you take just a _second_ to remember how badly lying turned out last time?"

Russ sounded defeated. "Dad didn't tell me anything about the man he's testifying against, other than the fact that he used to be quite dangerous. Tempe wasn't supposed to come home, so he said that the less information she had, the safer she'd be."

"Well, she came home, Russ, and you _knew _she did" Booth yelled, oblivious to the curious looks of the drivers zipping past him. "She came home, and she didn't know the truth, and you didn't tell her, and a bunch of men with guns came, and they took her. They _took_ your little sister, Russ. You knew your father was involved in something dangerous, but when I _called_ you and _told _you that she had been _abducted_, you _still_ saw no reason to clue me in, to _tell the fucking truth._"

Russ tried to interrupt, but Booth decided he wasn't interested in whatever pathetic explanation the man had to offer. If he had no more information that could help bring Bones home, Booth was done with Russ Brennan. He ended the call when Russ was mid-sentence. He gave his tire one more kick before getting back on the road.

oOo

He didn't remember the trip to Caroline's office. He had been consumed with trying to recall every last detail of the file he'd put together on Max Keenan all those years ago. He remembered the kind of people who had inhabited Max and Ruth's world back before they'd become Matthew and Christine: people like McVicar. Those were the kind of people who had Bones, and he felt like he was going out of his mind.

He ignored Caroline's secretary and barged right into her office, barking, "Where the hell is-"

He stopped short at the sight of Andrew Hacker sitting with Caroline at her conference table. Hacker nodded and smiled at him grimly, "Agent Booth."

Booth just stared, looking from the attorney to the Director. They knew why he was here. They knew, and they were looking back at him like parents who were trying to find the kindest way to tell their child that they'd accidentally destroyed his favorite toy.

"Where's Max Keenan?" Booth asked through gritted teeth.

"You know I can't tell you that _cher._" Caroline at least had the good grace to look regretful.

"Don't give me that southern belle bullshit, Caroline. I don't have time for it. _Bones doesn't have time for it._ Where is he?"

"Agent Booth," Hacker stood and put a hand on Booth's shoulder, "I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that the federal government doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

Booth glared at the hand on his shoulder, succeeding in making his superior uncomfortable enough to remove it. "Is that who they are? Terrorists?"

Now Caroline stood too, holding a file folder. She handed it to Booth, explaining, "I got a call just minutes ago from Dr. Brennan's brother. I told him the same thing I told you- that I can't reveal the location of Max Keenan...nor can I get a message to him about his daughter." Hearing Booth's sharp intake of breath, she squeezed his arm. "I can, _however,_ give you everything I have about the man he's testifying against." She nodded to the file in his hands. "Meet the Phantom."

Booth looked down at the photograph paper-clipped to the top of the folder. The man in the picture looked to be in his early to mid-sixties. He was completely bald and had the iciest blue eyes Booth had ever seen. He looked back up at Caroline, waiting for more.

"Marshall Coker, head of the White Heritage Republic."

"The what?"

"Exactly." It was Hacker who spoke now. "No one's ever heard of them. Hell, no one's even sure there is a _them. _You know that string of seemingly racially motivated murders throughout Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky a few years back?" At Booth's nod, Hacker continued, "Well, what was never released to the public is that the Bureau received letters and text messages from someone, or a group of someones, referring to themselves as the White Heritage Republic and taking credit for the murders. Hate Crimes has been working this since 2007, and they've been able to link WHR to abortion clinic bombings across the country, as well as threats sent to immigrant-owned businesses and several non-profits. The group is ghost-like in its operations. Everything they've done could possibly have been pulled of by a single man acting alone. The level of planning and organization, though, indicate a larger network. They were largely impossible to trace until we cross-referenced a rather unusual ingredient in some of the bombs with our explosives database. Turns out, that ingredient happened to be the signature of a man wanted for a series of bank robberies back in the seventies. Guess who had happened to cross paths with this man on a job or two back in the day?"

Booth felt sick. "Max Keenan."

"That's right, _cher._ Max Keenan. In fact, he'd actually been present at the production of one of these special bombs in 1975. It was used to blow the door off of a safe. So, when we tracked down Marshall Coker, a man whose only traceable crimes were connected to bank robberies back in the seventies, well...you see why Max Keenan's testimony is important."

Booth rubbed his hand hard over his face. "So, the White Republic, or whoever the hell they are, are you saying they took Bones to stop Max from testifying? I thought you said you weren't even sure they're an actual group."

Hacker met Booth's eyes, and he looked sorry. He looked really, really sorry. "We weren't. Until now. Whoever these people are, they've been flying under the radar for years. If it hadn't been for the bombs, we wouldn't have been able to link a single person to the group. If it hadn't been for Temperance's kidnapping, we'd still be unsure that it was a group."

"I need to talk to this Marshall Coker. As soon as possible."

Caroline nodded, but she looked skeptical. "I need to warn you, Marshall Coker isn't saying a word. He's even gone on hunger strike. I doubt you'll be able to get anything from him." She took in the look on Booth's face and added, "But I'll arrange for the meeting."

Booth glanced at the thin file in his hand, the only solid lead he'd had since this whole thing had begun and turned to leave. He stalked down the hall, not acknowledging Caroline calling after him to express her regret that this had caught up to his partner.

He went straight to his office, picked up some stupid glass paperweight he'd gotten god-knows-where, and heaved it at the wall, watching in satisfaction as the tiny glass shards rained down over his filing cabinet. The sound of a woman's gasp had him turning back toward his door, and he was greeted by a doorway full of squints...and Sweets.

They were staring at him, gaping at the broken glass. All he could think was that of course Sweets had to be there to see him practicing his pitching skills and how, when this was over, he was probably going to get called in for more mandatory therapy. He decided he wouldn't mind, that he'd go to mandatory therapy every week for the rest of his life, as long as this being over meant that Bones was home, safe and sound. He was just trying to formulate this into a formal deal with God when he remembered he wasn't alone.

It was Cam, ever the professional, who pulled it together to speak first. "You left without an explanation. The number you gave us was from a disposable cell- completely untraceable. The picture of Dr. Brennan was disturbing, but uninformative. We're ready for that update now, Booth."

He shrugged and handed over the folder...all he had. "Max is in protective custody, scheduled to testify against that guy- the supposed head of some shadowy hate group. The text I got was most likely from members of that group giving me two days to get Max and trade him for Bones." He dropped his head into his hands. God, he was tired.

All of the sudden, Angela was in front of him, pulling on the lapels of his jacket.

"They want Max? They'll give us Bren, if you give them Max?" She sounded slightly hysterical.

Booth closed his eyes and nodded, knowing what was coming next.

"Then get him! Booth." Angela was shaking him. "Get him. You'll get him, and you'll get her back. Right? Booth?"

For the second time that day, Booth was infinitely grateful to Sweets. This time, it was because the kid spared him having to tell Angela what, deep down, she already knew.

"He won't. He can't. The FBI can't negotiate like that."

"They will this time!" Angela was shrieking now, still clutching his lapels. "They have to. They will this time. Right, Booth? BOOTH?"

He opened his eyes to meet hers, letting her see all of the helplessness he felt. She lost it then. He could no longer understand her words, they could no longer be distinguished, mixed as they were with sobs. She was hitting him. Taking her fists and pounding at his chest.

And he let her, because he deserved it. He let her, because he wished he had someone to pound.

It only lasted a little while. Soon, Hodgins was wrapping his arms around his wife, ushering her out of the office. Cam and Sweets were still there, but Booth had nothing left to say. He'd given them all he had. Just the folder. He took it back and sank down against his file cabinet to read it, making himself comfortable amidst the shards of shattered glass.


	13. Waiting for Everything Better

**Author's Note: **All credit for the frequent updates has to go to Amilyn who encouraged me to forgo my usual process of posting as I write in favor of writing a draft of the entire story before I began to post.

**Chapter 13: Waiting for Everything Better.**

August 6, 2010. She scratched it into the dirt floor with her finger. It was morning... at least it was in the little world she had created for herself. She was shivering. She was permanently cold now, here in the dark and the damp. Only three days, and she was already forgetting how it felt to be comfortable. There had been no more food or water. Her sleep had been disrupted several times by the men pounding on the steel door, but no one had opened it.

She despised how she felt each time she heard that pounding. One part of her was terrified that she'd get another visit from her captors, the other part of her was desperate for just such a visit. Food and water. She was once again suffering from their absence, and the only ones who could help her were the men. Thirst, in particular, could make a person crazy. At one point during the knocking, she had crawled up the stairs and huddled next to the door. She almost cried out and asked them for water. She almost begged. She still wasn't sure that she shouldn't have.

This was a technique to break her down. She knew that. The men wanted her weak and docile- they didn't want her able to cause trouble. Good bargaining chips don't cause trouble. She just had to remember her part. They would bring her water eventually. They didn't want her dead. She couldn't allow herself to break.

She remembered the schedule she'd promised herself she'd keep. Record the date. Write a chapter of her next book in her head. She curled herself more tightly into a ball, hoping for a little warmth. She closed her eyes, because in this darkness, what did it matter? She tried to transport herself to Kathy and Andy's world.

Much to her publisher's dismay, she hadn't written a word since she'd left for Maluku. She just didn't know what to do with her characters anymore. She laughed out loud, considering the possibility that her publisher had her kidnapped so that she would be forced to think about a new book in order to maintain her sanity.

She twisted on the ground, resting her head against the cool cinderblock wall. Kathy and Andy. Perhaps it was time for Kathy to get a new partner. Andy...it was time for him to move on. That was why she didn't know what to do with her characters- because she knew deep down that their story had come to an end. A partnership like that could never last. Someone like Kathy, she wouldn't be able to take it- the way that everyone knew that Andy was the only man who would ever be able to tolerate her...even though he could have easily done better. Kathy would grow tired of being considered the lucky one, while he was considered the kind one. No, Brennan decided, Kathy would find that humiliating. At the start of this new book, Kathy would have to cast him aside, ready to prove that she would be just fine on her own. Let Andy have what everyone thought he deserved: someone better.

A loud bang echoed through the room. Brennan started, her eyes flying open. The door at the top of the stairs began to creak, and all thoughts of Kathy and Andy evaporated.

Brennan unfurled her body, forced herself to sit up straight. The men would not find her curled up like a child and vulnerable. Her instinct was to hold her breath as she heard footsteps on the stairs, but she continued to breathe normally. She would not give in to fear. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

There was only one man this time, and he was holding a tray with food and water. In the darkness, he had no features; he was nothing more than a shadow. Brennan studied his movements carefully. His left foot dragged slightly, indicative of injury, or perhaps a degenerative disease or congenital defect. She watched him walk toward her until she was confident she would be able to recognize him if he returned. Then, she turned her eyes toward the ceiling.

Don't make eye contact.

He came closer, and Brennan was overwhelmed by the scent of body odor. She thought it was possible that this was the same man who had brought food before. She allowed herself a moment to feel relieved that he hadn't brought his hard candy-eating friend.

She expected him to drop the tray and leave, but he just kept inching toward her, that left foot scraping roughly against the dirt floor with each step. He crouched directly in front of her, sitting the tray beside her tethered hands. She kept her gaze off of him, waiting to be left alone again.

But he wouldn't leave.

He remained in front of her, staring at her. She could feel his eyes as they roamed over her. It was killing her, having to sit there while he looked his fill. She repeated to herself that she was an intelligent woman and that she was doing what had to be done to stay alive. This time, she bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something he'd make her regret.

She couldn't deny herself completely, though, so she wrenched her eyes from the ceiling and met his gaze, filling her face with all of the contempt she felt.

And he smiled.

She smirked. He thought he was teasing her. He thought he was winning, but she knew that it didn't matter what anyone thought. It only mattered what _was._ He thought he was getting the best of her, but she was using his proximity to her advantage. She was memorizing him, already thinking ahead to the day when the power dynamics shifted.

She would be able to identify him confidently. He was young, in his late teens or early twenties. Caucasian. Bald. The irises of his eyes were so pale that they were nearly indistinguishable from the sclera. Who could forget eyes like that? Or the tattoo on his neck? DEVOTION.

She burned his image into her mind.

He stood, circled her. Then, he crouched once more, putting his lips to her ear.

"Hi."

It was a whisper, and she couldn't suppress the shiver that followed. She mentally shook herself. He wanted to talk? Fine.

"Who are you? Why am I here?" If this were one of her novels, she would have thought of better questions. She'd never let her characters turn say such inane things. Now, though, the cliched questions seemed to be the only ones that mattered. Witty repartee was only for fictional abductions.

He did something unexpected, and _god_ she hated when people surprised her. His mouth twisted sadly, and those translucent eyes took on an expression of regret. He patted her head, and it wasn't creepy this time. It was kind.

And he left. Without another word.

She kicked the floor in frustration before giving in and reaching for the water glass. A single traitorous tear splashed down her cheek. Perhaps she wouldn't have Kathy get rid of Andy right away. Kathy would undoubtably find herself in a tight spot, and maybe Andy had one last rescue in him before he moved on to everything better.


	14. Persistent Illusions

**Chapter 14: Persistent Illusions.**

Booth paced his office like a caged animal, mentally reviewing all the evidence he'd been able to gather. Every few minutes he would stop to stare at the white board he'd swiped from the bullpen and was using to track everything, maybe make a note or two. The board was largely blank, and he was barely resisting the urge to punch a hole through it.

He sank down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk- the ones usually reserved for visitors. It positioned him with his back turned away from the offensively empty white board. Booth knew that he could throw and shatter and punch whatever he liked, but it would only offer him momentary relief from the truth.

He was failing.

He'd been over every word in Marshall Coker's file. He'd reviewed the reports on every single crime that might be even remotely connected to the fucking White Heritage Republic. There was nothing that could help him. He needed a location- some idea of their base and where they might be holding her. The racially-based murders were confined to Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky, but the bombings and threats were spread out as far as Olympia, Washington. He had cross-referenced a map of the incidents with a timeline, but no obvious geographic pattern had emerged.

There were other leads to pursue- he'd be meeting with agents from Hate Crimes tomorrow, and Caroline had promised to arrange a meeting with Marshall Coker himself, but he needed to be doing something _now. _They would call back tomorrow, and he still wouldn't have Max, and he needed to be homing in on them.

Booth rested his head in his hands. He knew that work was being done. Somewhere in the building Sweets was developing a psychological profile to assist in tomorrow's interrogation of Coker. Over at the Jeffersonian the squints were...hell, he had no idea what the squints were doing, but he knew they were doing something. They were weird, but they were loyal...and tireless.

He slammed his hand hard on his desk, because he decided that in the absence of productivity, he'd take temporary relief.

"Seeley?"

He turned, and there was Hannah. She was standing in his doorway, and she was eyeing him with concern...and until this moment, he had forgotten that she existed. Hannah. He just stared at her, trying to remember. She felt like someone who belonged in another life.

"It's after midnight. I've been trying to reach you."

And he had been ignoring her. All of those calls and texts making sure that he was okay, he hadn't acknowledged them. What was the point? Of course he wasn't okay.

She was standing before him now, and he remembered why he'd wanted to make her part of his life. She was so beautiful. She reached out and rested her palm against his cheek. She was so kind.

"I managed to get in touch with the psychologist...Dr. Sweets? He said that there wasn't much investigative work to be done tonight, but that tomorrow would be pretty important."

Booth turned his cheek more firmly into her palm. "Yeah. I have some big interviews, and I should hear from them again. Tomorrow...tomorrow is pretty big."

She ran her other hand through his hair, and whispered, "Then you should come home now. Rest, so that you'll be ready for tomorrow. It's been days since you've been home."

He jerked away from her then. Stood, met her gaze. "I can't go home, Hannah. Not until she gets to go home. I can't...I can't eat dinner and shave and sleep in a bed while she's out there...while they have her." He rubbed his temples wearily. "I can't. I won't."

He was shaking his head, and she was looking back at him with a mixture of sympathy and hurt and understanding. Her smile was kind, because that was Hannah. Kind. Beautiful and kind. But there was something more behind that smile. Resignation. An admission of something that had been known all along. They stood there, too tired and too raw to pretend, facing these versions of themselves they'd created for each other. Kind and beautiful Hannah. Handsome and fun Seeley. They stood there, and they revealed who they really were- a man who would not leave without his partner, a woman who was never going to stay. The moment of clarity quickly collapsed, because this was not the time, but neither would be able to pretend it hadn't happened.

Hannah nodded and held up a duffle bag. "I thought that might be the case, so I brought you some clothes, toiletries... you do have to shower. Also," she held up a box of protein bars, the ones they'd practically survived on in Afghanistan, "you have to eat."

He took them from her. "Thank you." He wasn't just talking about the snacks.

As she turned to leave, she called over her shoulder, "Don't ignore my calls tomorrow, Seeley. I'm going to do what I can to help you find her."

"Thank you," he whispered again, watching her walk away.

oOo

A few hours of sleep, a shower and a protein bar later, and Booth was feeling less defeated and more out for blood. He found himself unable to look at either Caroline or Hacker without disgust, but he had to admit that they'd come through for him today. He was riding an elevator to the Hate Crimes division, because Hacker had called in the agents working the White Heritage Republic an hour early to meet with him. Caroline was in the process of getting Coker transferred to interrogation.

Today, Booth knew, he was finally on the right track. Today, he had a purpose.

There were two agents waiting to meet him when he stepped off the elevator.

"Agent Booth?" A red-headed woman in a tidy black suit approached him, holding out her hand. "I'm Agent Callahan." She indicated the man beside her. "This is my partner, Agent Hawez."

Booth shook their hands. "I appreciate you coming in early to help me out."

"Of course," Booth couldn't miss the pity in Agent Hawez's otherwise professional expression, "we're so sorry about Dr. Brennan."

"Yes, well," Agent Callahan fiddled with the tiny gold cross around her neck, then cleared her throat, all business , "if you follow us, perhaps we'll be able to give you some information that can help recover her." She turned on her heel, and Agent Hawez gave Booth a look that said 'forgive my partner for her insensitivity.'

It was a look Booth knew well. God knew, he'd had to flash it a million times working with Bones. He had to laugh a little at the familiar dynamic, fighting back the ache in his chest as he followed the other agents.

oOo

"Booth, can you hear me?"

He nodded at the mirror, knowing Sweets was on the other side of the glass. He jammed his hands in his pockets in a last-ditch effort not to check his watch. His morning with Agents Callahan and Hawez had revitalized him. They had been working under the assumption that the White Heritage Republic was an organized entity, and they'd developed several theories around that assumption. As they were theories and not evidence, they hadn't been included in any official reports. Now that it was confirmed the WHR was more than one crazy man acting alone, the theories had credibility. Booth had found them enlightening...and horrifying.

Hawez and Callahan thought the White Heritage Republic was more than a white supremacist organization- it seemed to act almost like a cult. They based this on the fact that murders linked to the group had replicated the deaths of Catholic saints- one man had been crucified upside down, another's eyes had been gouged out, and the only female victim's breast had been cut off in the manner of St. Agatha. Furthermore, there had been an escalation in the abortion clinic bombings over the past decade...including the use of suicide bombers in three instances.

The agents had also been able to provide him access to physical evidence in the cases not directly involved in the Coker indictment. Booth had sent it all to the Jeffersonian, where every piece was being analyzed for particulates that might lead to their geographic point of origin. Everyone was thrilled to have something to work on.

The euphoria was wearing off, though, as the hours passed. The men who had Bones, they'd be calling soon. He didn't want to give them the opportunity to find out that he couldn't bargain. He didn't want to wait for Hodgins to be King of the Lab. He wanted Marshall Coker to tell him where to find his band of freaks so that he could storm in there and get his partner back. He wanted to end this.

"Just remember, Booth, Coker is on hunger strike. Psychologically, this indicates delusions of grandeur. Whatever he's doing, he believes it's for a greater good. The greatest good. You need to tread carefully."

"Yeah, yeah, kid, I got it." Booth adjusted the microphone in his ear and took a seat, the noises outside the door indicated that Marshall Coker had finally arrived.

The door opened and the shackled prisoner was lead to the seat across from him. Booth dismissed the guards with a nod. He took in the man across the table. He was skinnier than his photo, but those icy eyes...they were the same. Booth noticed the tattoo on his left hand- tiny letters, all caps: DEVOTION.

"Booth, that look in your eye, it's too threatening. You need to approach him with deference."

The agent fought the urge to roll his eyes at the sound of the little voice in his ear. Still, he toned down his expression.

"Mr. Coker, I'm," he nearly choked on it, "really honored to have the opportunity to speak with you."

The other man remained silent, his eyes unfocused.

"I understand that you don't really speak to many people." No reaction. "I can't say I blame you."

Those icy eyes assessed him carefully.

Booth continued, "I need to talk to you about Dr. Temperance Brennan." He pushed her photo across the table. "I believe you know her father."

The disgust flashed across Coker's face in a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Booth to catch it. It was enough to confirm that Coker knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Appeal to his sense of purpose and greater good." Sweets again. "Differentiate Dr. Brennan from her father, present her as an asset to Coker's cause."

"Look," Booth leaned back, turning his palms up on the table. It was a gesture he'd learned from Bones, used to indicate that you were coming in peace. "I get hating Max Keenan. Hell, I'd like to do some damage to the bastard myself, but his daughter...she's not like him. She's a scientist, but you already know that right? She's done a lot of amazing work. I've been told that you're interested in eugenics. If that's the case, you want Temperance Brennan out here, working for you. She's studied many different people groups and their evolution over time." Booth winked. "Let's just say, she's seen enough to know who's superior. We need to find her, Marshall. We need to get her back to work."

"The doctor is important."

"Yes, Marshall, the doctor is very important."

Those cold eyes narrowed. "If it is as you say, then I'm sure an agreement can be reached. If her work is truly important to the betterment of the white race, then I am certain that He who knows all will provide a path for her return."

Booth tried to keep his face neutral. "A path has been provided, Marshall, but it's not an acceptable path. We need another way."

"A daughter should not be made to pay for her father's transgressions. It is a father's role to lay down his life in her place."

Booth gritted his teeth. "It isn't always possible. There has to be another way."

"If she is as you say, I would treasure the opportunity to work more closely with her. Perhaps that could be arranged, Agent Booth? Perhaps I could be freed from these chains, and she could be returned to her lab?"

He wanted to say yes. He wanted it with all his heart. "We both know that isn't how things work."

"Yes," Coker nodded sagely, "the world is not always what we want it to be. We must work to make it so. Some must be sacrificed along the way."

And that was it. Booth didn't have time for a megalomaniac who spoke in riddles. "Tell me where she is."

The man remained silent.

"Tell me where to find Dr. Brennan. Tell me how to get her back." Sweets was saying something, but Booth removed the ear piece. "Tell me where to find her."

The man smirked, and Booth remembered how badly he wanted something to pound.

In the time it took for him to lunge across the table, Booth had Marshall Coker and his fucking blue eyes pinned on the floor. He slammed his fists into the older man- once, twice. "TELL ME WHERE SHE IS! TELL ME WHERE TO FIND HER!"

Again, and again, and again, until the door flew open, and the guards rushed in, and Sweets was standing there with his mouth hanging open.

"Shut your mouth kid," Booth barked as he brushed past the psychologist. "You look like an idiot."

On his way to the elevator, his phone rang. Russ Brennan. Booth answered, snapping, "You damn well better be calling with information on your father."

"I..I...I just called to see if there was any word on Tempe."

"Fuck you." He hung up.

The phone immediately rang again, and Booth was preparing a few choice words for Russ Brennan when he realized that the number was unidentified. His heart was pounding. It was too soon.

Sweets appeared as if from nowhere...or maybe he had been there all along. The insult from seconds ago had been forgotten, and he put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Whatever you do, keep them talking. I'm right here."

Booth put the call on speaker. "Agent Booth."

"Hello, Agent, I hope you've had time to consider our generous proposition."

The voice was digitally altered, and it took Booth back to another phone call years ago. He grabbed the wall to keep himself upright. Other agents were surrounding him. A tap was being attempted.

"I have," he looked to Sweets for reassurance. The other man nodded, reminding him of what they had rehearsed. "We're definitely interested in negotiating on our end."

"Excellent. Put Keenan on the phone."

Booth's stomach was sinking. "First, let me talk to Temperance. I need proof she's still alive."

"I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but you've gotten all the proof you're going to get. Put Max Keenan on the phone, and please don't attempt one of the FBI's famous switcheroos. We know the man, and his daughter dies if there's even a hint of deception."

Booth eyed the agents setting up the tap. The frustration on their faces told them all he needed to know. "Getting a man from federal custody is complicated, as I'm sure you know. But we'll have him in time for the exchange. Just give me the location. A father for his daughter, just like you said."

He knew before it left his mouth that these people would never believe the lie. Still, the confirmation hurt.

There was a pause before the voice on the line began to cackle. "So the FBI won't negotiate, not even for the lovely Dr. Brennan." There was more laughter. "And she is so, so lovely. Well, that's fine, there are more _creative_ ways to use Dr. Brennan to get what we need."

The line went dead. A room full of agents watched as Seeley Booth reached his breaking point.


	15. Changes to the Game

**Author's Note: **First of all, I dedicate this chapter title to ProfJMarie...because if you can't beat them, sometimes you end up joining them. Second of all (and this one is more serious), please, please, please mind the rating and the warnings associated with this story. Things take a turn in this chapter, and the violence WILL escalate from this point on. I understand if you need to bow out.

**Chapter 15: Changes to the Game.**

She thought it meant they were bringing her water. The knocking, the door opening...she thought they were keeping a schedule. August 7, 2010. She traced the marks she had made in the dirt as the stairs began to creak with their weight. It had been twenty-four hours, and she thought they were bringing water.

oOo

She did not believe the man with the eyes that had been both revolting and kind was among the men who were watching her now. His companion was here, though. He'd been the one to lift her up and tie her to the chair, the smell of cinnamon candy invading her nose, making her stomach turn.

She didn't know how many of them were down there with her. They had come in a group, and she hadn't been able to see them all in the shadows. Her best estimate was eight, but she couldn't be sure. They were shining a light in her face, and they were on the other side.

oOo

Nothing happened. For the longest time, nothing happened. The light was in her face, and the men didn't make a sound. She wanted this to bore her. She wanted to play it cold.

But she was terrified.

Booth had been tortured. He'd never talked to her about it, but she'd seen the x-rays. _Falaqa, _that's what it was called in Arabic_. _A rod taken to the soles of his feet. She'd never asked him how he'd been captured. She'd never asked how long they'd held him before the beatings had begun. It was a line he'd drawn, and she'd always respected his lines.

Had Booth given them the answers they'd been after when they'd taken that rod and bashed it against the fragile bones of his feet? Had he broken?

No. Booth wouldn't break.

That night, after her refrigerator had exploded and she'd seen her partner's x-rays for the first time, she hadn't been able to sleep. She'd gone home, and she'd imagined how much force it must have taken to cause each injury revealed to her by his bones. Eventually, she'd gone online and looked up the Code of Conduct for the Armed Forces. Booth would have followed it. He would have been honorable. They would have smashed his feet, and he would have given them nothing.

Before...before everything had started slipping away, Booth had always talked to her and about her like she was special...and not just because of how she well she did her job. Everyone who knew her was aware of her unmatched abilities as a forensic anthropologist. Her partner had seemed to see more than that. He thought she was tough. He thought she could find a way out of anything.

She wondered what he'd think of her now, trembling in front of a spotlight.

oOo

"What's your name?"

Brennan flinched at the sound of the disembodied voice. Finally, something was going to happen.

"What's your name?"

Even a POW was allowed to give her name. She waited until she could speak with a clear, steady voice, "I am Doctor Temperance Brennan."

The man slammed his hand down hard on the table that had been brought in to hold the spotlight. The sound echoed through the cavernous room, and she couldn't stop the tears that sprang to her eyes. She slowly sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself.

"Perhaps I should explain the rules before we go any further. I will ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Lies have consequences."

The man paused, and Brennan remembered where she'd heard his voice before. The first night. He'd called her "baby girl." He'd dropped her. He'd pinched her. She hated him.

"Now, let me ask again. What's. Your. Name?"

She kept her tone neutral, but firm. "Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"We're going to go on, but just remember that I warned you. Lies have consequences, Joy."

Joy. The name of a little girl from a different life. Joy, the antithesis of Temperance. She blinked against the blinding light, because what was happening no longer felt like a business deal. Something had changed, and she hadn't seen it coming. Something had shifted, and she might have missed her chance to fight.

"Where is your father?"

He was in North Carolina, with Russ. She couldn't tell them that. The men, they had to be connected to her father and his past life. She would not sell out her family.

She stayed silent.

"Oh, honey, you're going to learn. Silence has consequences too. Where is Max Keenan?"

She would give them nothing.

She braced herself for another question, but it didn't come. The men let their last question hang in the air. Her head was throbbing- her body was once again dehydrating. As subtly as she could, she tried to test her restraints- it was time to start planning an escape...no matter how poor her chances.

They had used rope this time, and legitimate knots. She wouldn't be able to free herself. She couldn't let her disappointment show. The men, their eyes were on her. Her face was all lit up for them.

She hated them all.

"What were the conditions of his agreement with the feds?"

She might have been grateful for another question- better to deal with something that was happening than to be left to anticipate what might come. She might have been, if it was not for what the question implied. Her father, coming to some sort of agreement with the feds? It made no sense.

"Look, little Joy, this is your chance to save yourself. Trust me, you'll only get one. Your father is interfering with the will of God. He is on the side of wrong. He is a traitor to his race. Do you understand what I am telling you, Joy? A man cannot stand in the way of what God has ordained."

Wh...What? She couldn't understand...she couldn't follow. She swallowed, trying to test the dryness of her mouth. Maybe she was more dehydrated than she realized. Maybe she was hallucinating.

"Joy, no one is coming for you. Your father had an opportunity to do the right thing and turn himself in. He could have taken your place. Are you staying quiet out of loyalty? Because how much loyalty do you owe a father who abandons you?"

Brennan was trying to stay lucid, to process. Her father knew where she was? He knew who had her?

The man was lying. Her father, wherever he was, if he knew who had her, he would tell Booth. Booth would come for her.

"Do you understand me? Do you understand that no one is coming for you?" The man pounded his hand again. Over and over, the banging. "Your friend at the FBI? He had an opportunity to save you today. We were ready to negotiate. He refused."

She had been right. She had been up for negotiation. But not anymore. Everything changed today. Her father...he had done something...he had lied. He wasn't with Russ, caring for a sick child. He was...somewhere else...he had lied...Russ had lied. Again. And she was here, and Booth wasn't coming.

She had gotten everything so wrong. She'd let herself be fooled. Again.

"You are going to have to save yourself. Where is Max Keenan, Joy?"

She didn't know. No one had told her. It was the truth, but not one that would save her. And lies, well, they had consequences.


	16. Paris in the Summer

**Author's Note:** i feel the need to tell everyone that this chapter was written months and months ago- long before the show had Angela wanting to move out of Hodgins' estate. Just sayin'.

**Chapter 16: Paris in the Summer.**

"You should go home."

Angela glared at her husband over her monitor. She was not having this conversation again. "No."

"Angie, it's been days since you've slept or had a decent meal. I'm worried about you- you and the baby. Please, for me, go home."

"I don't see you going home right now, so why should I?"

"_I _have things to work on. The boxes that Hate Crimes sent over are full of evidence that needs to be analyzed for particulates. It could lead us to their base; it's the best lead we have right now. I can't go, but you..."

"I'm useless, that's what you're trying to say, right? That my best friend is missing, _again_, and there's nothing I can do because I'm not an FBI agent or a scientist, right?"

She crossed her arms over her middle, trying to make herself sharp and pointy, trying to ward off the hug she knew was coming.

It didn't work.

"You _know _that's not what I'm saying." Her husband was using that hushed tone that got her every time, and damned if she wasn't about to start crying again.

"Well, I'm not going back there. That house is too big."

"Sweetie,-"

"Don't 'sweetie' me! I'm not leaving. I'm not going back there. Ever!" So there.

"You...want us to get a new house?"

"Yes. I want a new house. In Paris. Away from here. And I want us to find Bren, and I want us to bring her with us, and I never, ever want to have to search for someone I love again."

The tears were cascading down her face, and she watched as Hodgins' own expression crumpled into pity. She wanted to punch him in the nose. She didn't want his sympathy, she wanted him to take her seriously.

"Baby-"

"No, shut up. We have to find her, then we need to leave this place. We have all kinds of money. We'll open our own lab in Paris. We'll research all kinds of important things about old, dead people, and we'll let other people find dangerous criminals." Her voice broke. "Cam and Michelle can come too- teenagers love Paris. And...and Clark...because he's my fa-..my favorite."

"Oh, Ange." He was holding her tightly now. "What about Sweets? I've gotten kind of attached to him."

She made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob. "Fine. He can come too...but Daisy stays in D.C."

She could feel Hodgins start to agree, but then he pulled back slightly, stiffening. She turned in his arms to follow his gaze.

"Booth?" Angela tried not to gasp at his appearance; he was almost unrecognizable. "What's happened?"

"Do you have anything for me? Hodgins? Have you been able to find anything that could point to a possible location?"

Hodgins shook his head slowly. "Not yet, man. I just got all of this stuff, but I should know more soon. I'm working on it."

"Really? You're working on it? Because that's not what it looks like. It looks like you're standing around laughing with your wife. It looks like-"

"Stop." Angela placed her hand on his chest. "Don't do this. Don't say another word you'll have to beat yourself up over later. You _know_ everyone is doing their best."

At first, his eyes flashed, and he looked ready to fight, but then his shoulders drooped, and all of the fight just faded away. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sorry, man."

"It's okay. I understand,..but Booth? Did something happen?"

"They called back. The number was untraceable, of course. I couldn't give them what they want. They said they'd get creative." His eyes glazed over for a moment.

Angela's breath caught. She was starting to feel frantic again. What did that mean, 'they'd get creative'? What could that possibly mean? "Booth-"

But he was already turning to leave. "I just...I just thought I'd see if you'd been able to do better than me."

He walked away, and Angela, determined not to give in to hysterics, turned back to her husband. "Go analyze. Save the day. We'll find her, then we're taking her to Paris. I don't care what she says, I won't take no for an answer. She matters too much for me to ever lose her again."

She expected Hodgins to make another joke, another attempt to calm her hysteria. But he took her seriously. He was remembering something he wasn't willing to share. His eyes gave him away as he said, "Yeah, she matters too much. Ange, when we get her back? I think we should make sure she knows that."

oOo

Booth left the Jeffersonian and drove directly back to the Hoover. He'd known it was too soon for Hodgins to have something for him. He'd known that if there'd been any news, his friend would have called immediately. But he'd had to get out of his office, away from all the other agents, and, well,...he'd _hoped._

The man he'd talked to said they'd have to get creative. Booth didn't want to think about what that meant. He didn't want to think Marshall Coker's cold eyes, or the murder victim with the severed breast. He had to keep working. Movement was vital. Sitting, thinking...not options.

He knocked once on the door in front of him, barging in without waiting for permission.

"You cared for her once."

"Agent Booth-"

"Come on Hacker, you cared about her. She's not a stranger, or even just an asset to the Bureau...she's someone who _mattered_ to you."

"Agent Booth, I...what is it that you want me to do? Everything is already being done, and it's being done by the best. I'm calling in every favor I'm owed. What are you asking from me?"

"Max Keenan."

"Booth-"

"No, listen. I'm not asking you to tell me where he is. I just need to get a message to him. Just let him know they have her. That's all I'm asking, Sir."

"It's not that simple. I'm not exactly privy to the locations of federal witnesses. Hell, this isn't even an FBI case- the ATF is the lead on the Coker situation."

"But you have contacts in the ATF?" It wasn't really a question.

"I want Temperance found. You know that. You _know_ I want that. I've put every resource at my disposal toward achieving that. There are no shortcuts, Agent Booth. She has to be found the right way. You know that. You and her scientists, you'll solve this one. You always do."

And that was that. Booth held the other man's gaze long enough to know that there would be no further budging.

It was time to keep moving. He didn't even bother to knock at the next office.

"How many scumbags has Bones helped you put away? How many cases has she won for you?"

"_Cheri-"_

"You owe her, Caroline. You _owe_ her."

"Everything that could possibly be done to bring Dr. Brennan home is being done."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Caroline. Don't do that. You have access to Max Keenan. It's his fault she is where she is. She's taking _his_ place, Caroline. All you have to do is tell him. Just tell him what's happening."

"You want me to go to the only witness in a trial against a _very_ bad man and give him information that will basically lead to him agreeing to die in his daughter's place."

"Yes. That's exactly what I want. He owes her too."

"_Cheri,_" Caroline was shaking her head, "that's not we do here. That's not who we are." She held up her hand when Booth started to protest. "That's not who _you _are. And it certainly isn't who Dr. Brennan would want you to become."

"Caroline, we _have _to bring her home."

"I know, _cher._ I know. But we're going to have to do it without losing ourselves in the process. Maybe you should go home. Let the squints do their thing tonight while you rest. Come back tomorrow with a clear head."

Booth nodded numbly, though he had no intention of going anywhere. He'd go back to his office, and he'd...he'd...he'd do something. But he wouldn't go home. Not without her.


	17. In the Absence of Heroes

**Author's Note: **Let's call this one, "The One Where Things Get Bad"- you've been warned. Hugs and gratitude to Amilyn for her excellent beta work.

**Chapter 17: In the Absence of Heroes.**

After she understood that she had no answers to give, she stopped hearing the voice behind the spotlight. She wondered about Booth, when he was tortured. Did he even know the answers to the questions they asked? Would it have made it more difficult when they were beating the soles of his feet, knowing that he never had a chance? Or would it have made it easier? Would it have been a relief not to have to choose between honor and self-preservation?

The voice was still shooting questions at her. The same one over and over, phrased in different ways. She smiled, because the man must not know much about her. He must have believed her father trusted her more than he actually did. Maybe he believed she mattered to Max more than she actually did. She almost giggled. He could leave her tied to this chair for days, but he'd never get what he wanted. All these men, the light, the location. All this effort. Wasted. There would be no winners here.

Her father. His face, the day he drove away from her, leaving her handcuffed to a bench. The time he told her that being alone on Christmas meant that no one loves you...never considering the number of Christmases she had spent on her own. Her father, for whom she'd mislead a jury. Her father, who after everything, was still a liar.

She might have gone on like that for hours, thinking and remembering while ignoring the questions that were being asked of the wrong person. She probably would have, except at some point the man behind the light had enough. He was screaming, then he wasn't. He was coming toward her, and in an instant, she was fighting for breath, struggling against the plastic bag he wrapped tightly over her head. She needed her hands. She pulled against the restraints, her brain rebelling against the lack of oxygen. She tried to grab the bag with her teeth, rip a hole in it. Anything, anything for air.

Just when her eyes began to drift closed, the bag was removed. She was left gasping, her chest heaving as she sucked in oxygen, while the men laughed.

"Let's try this again, Joy, now that you understand the consequences. How can we get to your father?"

oOo

It happened that way again and again. Eventually, she stopped being surprised by it. Eventually, she began to accept that this, indeed, was how she was going to die. They would keep asking questions. She would keep staying silent. At some point, they were bound to leave that bag on too long.

Her head now drooped onto her chest. It had to have been hours. Days? No, just hours. Her brain was being repeatedly deprived of oxygen; her body was craving water. The light was shining on her in the darkness, and the man kept talking.

She wondered if Angela would have a boy or a girl. She pictured a girl. Angela would be so good with a little girl. Hodgins, he'd be one of those fathers...overprotective of his daughter...like Angela's dad. If she were able to be there, she'd tell him that his attitude was outdated and chauvinistic. Angela would agree with her. So would Cam. Secretly, though, every one of them would think better of him for it.

Wait, Cam. Hodgins. The man, he was talking about them. He was saying something, and she hadn't been listening.

"...because we will. We will, Joy. You keep refusing to cooperate, and we'll just go get that FBI friend of yours, or that scientist with the curly hair. We'll get the black lady. We would enjoy it, putting her in her place."

Her heart began to race. Her friends. Her people. He knew them. He could find them.

"What? You still got nothing to say? Not going to turn on daddy, is that right? Well, there's always Agent Booth's little boy. He's adorable, isn't that what you said? I could bring him down here with you. Or the teenage girl- the adopted one, whose dad is dead. Who would miss her? Right, Joy? She's certainly not worth giving us what we want. Then, there's always the pregnant lady. Two for one. Are their lives worth less than your father's, Joy? Because we _can_ get them. We got you, and we can get them. Will that loosen your tongue, Joy? It would be fun. A test of your loyalty."

She'd led them to her friends. Her speech in the salt marshes, when she still didn't understand what was going on. She'd led them to her friends. She'd led them to her friends' _children._ Angela had gone to jail once because of Max...now...

"I don't know. I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him in over seven months. I thought he was with relatives. He lied to me. I don't know. I can't give you what you want. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know..."

He believed her, the man behind the light. She could tell by the low growl he gave while she spoke. He was angry, because now he, too, more fully understood the situation. He, too, had just learned a difficult truth about Max Keenan.

He had been sitting. She heard him rise, kick the chair behind him. She heard it clatter to the floor, and she couldn't stop herself from flinching.

There were other voices now, as the other men began to come to the realization that she was useless.

"She's a liar." "A traitor, just like her father." "She knows where he is." "Give me five minutes. I bet I could get it out of her."

"You're a fucking idiot, Jimmy." _Jimmy._ She remembered Jimmy. _Have You Ever Seen the Rain._ He liked Creedence Clearwater Revival. Like Booth. She had been less afraid, riding in his car.

"She doesn't know anything. Look at her, all stupid and pathetic."

"Kill her. If Max Keenan cannot be stopped, then we must implement the contingency plan. Kill her first, though. Make him pay."

"We'll be here a while before we can fully implement the contingency. We need to wait for orders. I'm not quite ready to write off little Joy as useless." It was her interrogator, and his voice was tight with rage. "I can think of ways to put her to use."

She expected the plastic bag again, when he stepped in front of the light. He stood in front of her, and he was huge. Bald. Brown eyes- like Booth's, but not at all. DEVOTION. Tattooed across his forearm. He stared into her eyes, and for a moment they were equals. Honest competitors.

Only for a moment, though, because in a move so fast, she never saw it coming, he kicked the chair and tipped her on the ground. He had a knife. She hadn't noticed it. He had a knife, and he was cutting at her restraints.

She immediately began to fight, because there was no time left to be strategic.

"_I'd rather take my chances with a gun than a knife."_ That's what Booth had told her after a doctor had stabbed her with a scalpel. She'd said it was nothing, that she would have been able to handle it. Booth had been so upset. _"Knives are no joke, Bones. At Quantico they taught us to keep a twenty-two foot window between ourselves and a perp with a knife. Anything less than that, and they'd be able to lunge and stab before we could draw and shoot. You're lucky, Bones. It wasn't nothing."_

Twenty-two feet. The knife was at her throat. He was tearing at her clothes, and now she understood exactly what was going to happen. Twenty-two feet, but she still had to try. She began to rock from side to side, trying to throw off his balance, trying to get the leverage to kick him off.

Useless. The knife dug into her neck, and she felt a trickle of what had to be blood seep down her shoulder. He laughed. She struggled, and he laughed. The other men laughed too, because what chance did she have? Still, she tried kicking, but her blows seemed to have no impact.

She had never felt panic quite like this before- this _knowing_ what was going to happen, but being powerless to stop it. She hadn't felt powerless like this in such a long time. Not since she was a teenager. She'd studied martial arts and self-defense. She'd learned to shoot. She'd...she'd done everything right.

But she couldn't stop this man in this situation. She couldn't...but she wouldn't scream. He would not make her scream. She bit her lip. She couldn't move. She'd never been pinned so effectively. She could barely breath. But she wouldn't scream.

Then it was over, and he left. He walked up the stairs and through the door. Just like that. He walked away.

But she still wasn't alone. There were others.


	18. Adaptations of a Reasonable Mind

**Chapter 18: Adaptations of A Reasonable Mind**.

August 8, 2010. She swirled her fingers through the dirt on the floor beneath her, scratching out a date that probably wasn't even accurate. She...she had no idea what day it was. She had no idea how long she'd been lying there, naked, her bare back against the cold ground. They'd all left, eventually. When they were finished.

She'd been right. There had been eight of them.

They'd been gone for a while. Hours, days, weeks...it didn't really matter. She hadn't moved- she hadn't yet determined if it was because she physically couldn't, or because she simply didn't want to. When she sat up, when she moved from her position off this floor, she'd have to leave this moment behind. She'd have to acknowledge what had just happened to her, what she'd just survived. How? How could she do that? How could she face that she was no longer a bargaining chip? That she no longer had the dignity and protection of her clothing? That knocks on the doors no longer signaled merely the arrival of water?

If she just stayed put, curled up on the ground, perhaps she could stay suspended in time. She could let her mind stay mercifully blank. She could pretend...

The taste of something warm and metallic on her tongue brought her back to reality. She lifted her hand to her mouth. She was blind in the darkness, but she could imagine her fingertips now coated in red. One of the men, the man with the cinnamon candy, he'd wanted her mouth open. She'd resisted, but he'd taken a plastic card, shoved it between her teeth, slashing her gums in the process. He'd gotten what he wanted. All of her training and preparation, but when it counted, she hadn't even had the power to keep her mouth closed.

Her stomach rolled, and she didn't know whether it was the blood or the memory that made her vomit. It was this that forced her off the ground, pulled her out of suspended animation. She heaved again and again, though there was nothing left in her stomach.

This, she thought, would speed up the dehydration. But maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

oOo

The knocking started again, and she began to tremble. It was Pavlovian now, and she hated her body for betraying her. She had hoped it would be one of those times when the knocking was followed by silence, but she heard the creak of the impenetrable door, saw the sliver of light, and knew she would not be left in peace.

One set of footsteps on the stairs. A small thing for which to be grateful. She pulled her knees to her chest, trying to shield herself, trying to disguise the shaking.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away from her, and instinctually, she lifted her gaze. It was the man with the translucent eyes. He hadn't been there earlier, with the others. She didn't know where he'd been.

He was staring at her just like before, and she imagined herself tackling him, pounding him. She had her hands back. They'd sliced off the ropes and hadn't retied them. She could hit this man, claw at him.

But he had a tray. Food and water, he was getting back on schedule. She wanted to lunge for the water, but he was still staring, and she wouldn't expose herself further. He came toward her, and she realized that his hands were still full. Once again, he was crouched in front of her, and she squeezed her eyes closed, flinched away, braced herself for what she knew would come.

A washcloth. A wet washcloth. He was pressing it on her gums, soaking up the blood. She struggled, resisted his touch. He kept making these soft, hushing sounds. They reminded her of her mother. When she was little, she was prone to running unusually high temperatures. Her mother would bring a cold, wet washcloth to press against her head and would curl up beside her in her bed. She'd fight it at first. The cold would be so painful, but her mother, she would make those sounds, and they'd work.

This time she stopped struggling because the cold felt good against her raw mouth. The man withdrew his hand, placing hers over the washcloth to hold it in place. He held up a small bucket of water for her to see before setting it carefully beside her. Next, he showed her a tube of antibiotic ointment and left it beside the bucket.

She was trying to process this apparent kindness when the man came closer. He was touching her, and she started kicking wildly. He ignored her blows, and she realized what he was doing. He had her clothes. He was wrapping her shirt around her. He finished, then stepped back, leaving the rest of her torn clothes in his little pile of gifts, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm.

She didn't trust the gesture, she thought as he walked away. She slipped back into her clothing, pretending it was armor. From now on, she would assume everyone meant harm.


	19. Against Better Judgement

**Author's Note: **I am both overwhelmed by and very appreciative of all of your feedback. Special thanks to Amilyn for all of her hard beta work. This chapter features a return to Booth and a time jump.

**Chapter 19: Against Better Judgement.**

August 18, 2010. Booth slammed his hand down on the clock, silencing the radio announcer who served as his daily transition between his sleeping nightmare and his waking one. He was in his bed. His own bed, in his own home. Because it had been two weeks, and they won't let you live at the Hoover building...or the Jeffersonian. You can get away with it for days, but not for weeks. Not for weeks.

He rolled smoothly off the bed, carefully so as not to wake the woman who shared it. Hannah. That first night he'd had to come home, she'd been there. He'd been so devastated, and she'd looked so sorry. He'd buried himself so deeply inside of her. Again and again. Night after night. He was using her. Mostly, he felt nothing, but those moments with her...he felt something. Well, then afterward he felt sick. Which, when you thought about it, was something too.

He stepped into the shower, remembering how he'd told Hannah that he wouldn't sleep in his bed, or shower in his shower until he'd brought his partner home. He'd once told Bones that he was 'that guy.' He'd once said that he'd never let her fall. What was one more broken promise?

oOo

Hannah kept her eyes closed, her breath steady. She pretended to sleep until she heard the sound of the shower. She opened her eyes and felt her daily twinge of self-loathing. She knew what he was doing. She let him. She was using him too.

She'd always been a risk-taker, a gambler. She loved the rush of ignoring her better judgement and diving into something new. That's what Seeley Booth had been- something new. And following him across the world had been an adventure- a risk. Not that there wasn't a part of her that had hoped it would pay off, but she'd never really believed she was here to stay.

Now she knew she wasn't. But she was here for now, and he needed...something. And there was the story. A white supremacist cult, an abduction with its roots in the past...and she was in the middle of it. She liked it, and it made her hate herself.

But she would help him find Temperance Brennan. She was close to something, though she couldn't bring herself to tell him, to get his hopes up. She'd do everything in her power to bring her back alive. When she left, she would not be leaving behind a broken man.

oOo

Booth bypassed his office entirely, heading directly to Agents Callahan and Hawez. They were his people now. He spent his days almost exclusively with them, following up on every minuscule piece of information they were able to gather about the White Heritage Republic.

Hacker had been true to his word; he really had put every possible resource toward finding Bones. Until now, the WHR had been a very small fraction of Hawez and Callahan's caseload. Hate Crimes had largely been used as a proxy to devote more time to possible international terror threats. Now, though, these two agents were working only the WHR case.

It was slow work, consisting mostly of psychological profiling and tracking possible members through tedious financial tracing. Booth tried to fight back the desperate urgency that threatened to smother him. It was slow work, but it could lead to Bones. They had already been able to limit their focus to the Southeast, which was a surprise as most of their crimes had been concentrated in the Midwest. But a tip had led to a family member of a suspected member, who had been able to give them names of other possible members, which had led to a couple of bank accounts...all located within the Southeast.

They'd also made some progress in discerning the character of the group. The family members they'd eventually spoken to had all become terrified of their relatives. They didn't know the name- White Heritage Republic- but they all described their loved ones' newfound sense of dedication to a murky cause. One of the women had been able to show them some letters from her brother warning her of a race war and the end of the world. The group was like a cross between the Ku Klux Klan and the Branch Davidians.

To be honest, Booth could have still completed most of his investigation from his own office, calling the other agents with questions when necessary. He liked being here with them. Agent Hawez made him laugh. Agent Callahan put him in his place. Neither engaged in gossip, neither whispered about him, or looked at him with pity. They did their jobs, and they were good at it. They were like him and Bones. They reminded him of his normal. They reminded him of why he couldn't give up.

Agent Hawez smiled and handed him a cup of coffee as he entered the office. Agent Callahan didn't look up, just handed him a stack of financial records. He forced a smile, reminded himself that today could be the day.

oOo

"Rebekah, I understand that you're worried about your brother. You're right to be worried, okay? The people he's with now, they're dangerous. Very dangerous. I know you don't want Jimmy to get in any trouble, and I can't promise that won't happen, but you could be keeping him from getting hurt. Rebekah, it's time to do the right thing."

Hannah held her breath, hoping she hadn't pushed the twenty-year-old too far. Jimmy Sturges. Hannah had seen the name on some bank records in the Hate Crimes office when she'd gone to check-in on Booth one evening. She knew that he was combing those records for clues. She'd decided to take a more personal approach. She'd started by calling Sturges' parents in Kentucky. They had been...well, unpleasant might be an understatement, but Hannah just happened to have a former professor who had retired to Pikeville, Kentucky- the family's hometown.

One call to Dr. Reeves, and she had plenty of information on the Sturges...including the fact that they had an estranged daughter in college at the University of Tennessee. From there, it hadn't been difficult to track down Rebekah Sturges, and only marginally more difficult to win her confidence.

Over the course of four phone calls, Hannah had learned about the Sturges' rocky home life- how Jimmy had been abused, but had always protected Rebekah. How Jimmy had fallen in with a group of guys Rebekah deemed "creepy." How once Rebekah had been safely moved to college in Knoxville, Jimmy had disappeared.

Rebekah knew where he went. Hannah was sure of it. They were close. He would have told her how to find him, if only to make sure that she could reach out to him if their parents came after her. Hannah had taken her time, had developed a rapport with the girl. She was close, and it was one more reason she'd had to keep this from Seeley. If he'd known about Rebekah, he would have been on the first plane to Knoxville. He would have pushed and ruined everything. He'd lost all objectivity.

"Jimmy's not like the other guys. He's not bad. He protected me all our lives. He doesn't deserve to go to jail. Whatever they've done, I know it's not his fault."

"I know, Rebekah. I'll tell the authorities that, okay? You'll get a chance to speak for him, but we have to find him now. This group, they're holding a woman. They've had her for two weeks, and if they kill her...Rebekah, if that happens, no one will be able to help Jimmy."

There was a pause. "I- I don't know exactly where he is. I just... he's in the mountains."

"Where, Rebekah? What mountains?"

"I'm not sure...I...West Virginia. He's in West Virginia."

Hannah's smile was triumphant, her eyes closed in relief. "You did the right thing Rebekah. Thank you."


	20. The Fundamental Need For Connection

**Author's Note: **Because I feel the need to play fair with you, I want to warn you against feeling to comfortable that everything is going to be okay from here on out. Also, I know people are stressed about Brennan's two weeks in captivity. My original plan was six weeks, so y'all should thank Amilyn for talking me out of that.

**Chapter 20: The Fundamental Need For Connection.**

She had stopped scratching the date in the floor. She had stopped thinking about Kathy and Andy. She had stopped exercising. She had never even started planning Angela's baby shower. These were routines set up for a woman being held for ransom. These were the routines of a woman who would someday leave this place.

She wasn't that woman anymore.

She was a woman who was being held for revenge. A woman who had been gone too long, too many days to count. A woman who would hear knocking and would begin to shake, because knocking meant footsteps. Footsteps meant men. Men could mean so many things. If she was lucky, water and staring. If not, it meant being left naked for days; it meant people taking what they wanted as if she didn't even exist; in the case of the man with the cinnamon candy, it meant bite marks that would never fade away. She was a woman whose hands had been freed and restrained dozens of times. A woman who hurt everywhere. A woman who could barely move.

A woman who wasn't going anywhere.

The knocking started again, and why? Why did they have to bang on the door? Why? To create the illusion that she could somehow deny them entry?

She calmed at the sound of the steps. There was a slight drag, and she knew what that meant. The man with the water. And the medicine. And her clothes.

He didn't try to touch her anymore. He arranged the cold washcloth, the bucket, the ointment...all of it, in a pile within her reach. She held up her hands, showed him that they were free and that he didn't need to cut off restraints so that she could slip her shirt back on. He never said anything; he just looked at her.

If Booth were here, he'd be able to help her interpret that gaze.

She stared back him, not wanting to appear ungrateful for his help, but wanting to be left alone again. She stared long enough, and he turned to go. He was more a boy than a man, she decided. Probably no more than eighteen.

She held the washcloth to a bite mark and wondered how he'd ended up here.

oOo

In the end, as different and as excruciating and as _personal_ as this felt, it was the same. It was the same as any other case, and it was broken in the same way as any other case. All of the tiny little pieces, taken on their own, were meaningless until the piece was found that provided a connection- that separated those that were in fact meaningless from those that meant everything.

Booth was reminded of how rarely he is actually the one to find the connector. He gathers all the little pieces, someone else usually provides the outline, and he slides his precious pieces into place. It's almost always Bones, or the squints providing the outline. Today it was Hannah.

"West Virginia." Her eyes were sparkling, triumph radiating off of her. She leaned across his makeshift work area in Hate Crimes and repeated it. "West Virginia."

And he knew. It was the connector. He let his eyes sparkle back at hers. He doesn't question her, doesn't ask how she could possibly know. For a moment, he just allowed himself to bask in hope. He'd been deprived of it for too long.

The moment passed quickly, and he crossed his desk to grab Hannah in a hug of gratitude. He wanted to kiss her, he almost did, but the realization that the time for losing himself in her has passed stopped him at an embrace. Her smile was dazzling as she handed him a folder with all her notes and walked away with a wink and without another word.

oOo

A call to the Jeffersonian confirmed it- West Virginia was the connector.

It was Hodgins who answered. Hodgins, who of everyone, had truly been the one to not go home without Brennan. They'll let you live at the Jeffersonian if you have work to do, and the Bug Man had plenty of work. He'd gone through every scrap of physical evidence from the various murders and bombings attributed to the WHR. He'd spent hours on each item, finding every particulate, every hair, every tiny little piece that might bring his boss, his friend, his child's godmother home.

"I'd narrowed it down to the Appalachian Mountains, Booth. West Virginia was all I needed to hear. Give me two hours to do some cross-referencing, and I'll give you some parameters." Booth heard as the scientist released a shaky breath. "We're almost there, man. We've almost got her."

Booth chose not to give voice to his fears that they were too late, that two weeks was too long, that those men were too fucking insane. Hope. He'd felt it for a moment. He would cling to it. He'd let Hodgins cling to it. Bones was tough. She'd make it.

He could have gotten lost, then, in thoughts of all that she might have to make it through. He could have allowed his imagination, fueled by years of experience in war zones and homicide investigations, free reign to really consider what his partner's life had likely become.

But, thank God, Hodgins wasn't the only one who needed to do some cross-referencing. Booth called out to Hawez and Callahan, "Guys, West Viriginia. Go through the Coker family's financials again, this time flagging anything connected to West Virginia."

oOo

It took five hours rather than the promised two, but Hodgins came through. Like always.

"I cross referenced all of the particulates native to West Virginia- quartzite, hairs from the _Lepus americanus _and _Neotoma magister_, and bark from the _Tsuga canadensis_, and I found- Oh man, I'm sorry, that's hairs from the snowshoe hare and the Allegheny woodrat, as well as bark from the Eastern Hem-"

"Hodgins. I don't really care about the squint to English translation right now."

"Oh. Right. Okay, Pendleton County. Pendleton County, West Virginia is the only place these three species could be found together. It's located in the Allegheny Mountain range of the Appalachians. Its population is tiny, with good reason- the terrain is a nightmare. That's where she is, Booth. It has to be."

This time, Booth didn't allow himself the luxury of celebration. After a quick, "Good work, Hodgins," he was off the phone, pouring over the records he and the other agents had flagged until he found what he was looking for.

Vantrease Mining Company, started by Marshall Coker's great-grandfather, had shut down in the early seventies. It was located in Pendleton County, set-up in the style of a compound, against the backdrop of the Allegheny Mountains. The buildings still stood, but the mining community had been gone for nearly forty years.

He had her. He knew how to get her back.


	21. But Then

**Author's Note: **I warned you.

**Chapter 21: But Then.**

Three firm taps in quick succession. It had become something of a code. The boy who brought the food, his knocking was distinctive. She no longer had to listen for the sound of a slight drag on the stairs to know that it was him. She waited, shoulders tense, through the first knock, the second. It wasn't until the third that she released the breath she always held.

She turned her cheek against the cinderblock wall, hoping the boy would take it as a sign to leave her food and go. She was clothed today, she was not in need of medicine. She did not want him lingering, staring at her with those barely-there eyes. It was almost impossible to bear, being seen. She had adjusted to her new reality where there was comfort in solitude, in darkness, in invisibility.

He placed the tray to her left, and she was surprised to smell cheap alcohol mixing with sweat. That was new. She'd never smelled alcohol on any of her captors. She could feel him stop, start to stare. She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from lashing out at him. At times like this, she would imagine what Angela would say. _Fuck off. Take your creepy looks elsewhere, buddy._ At times like this, her mind still revolted against her powerlessness.

"Take off your clothes."

At first, she could not move past the fact that the boy had spoken. In all of her time in this place, she had never heard him utter a word. She had wondered if he might be unable to speak. The sound of his voice, deeper than she would have expected, caught her off guard. Seconds passed before she even began to process his words.

"No."

Her own word also surprised her. It had been so long. She hadn't realized it was still possible to react as if she were someone who had choices. As if she were someone.

He advanced toward her, and she said it again, louder this time. "No."

"I won't...," his words slurred slightly, "I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."

It worked. She said no, and he listened. He stopped. She almost sobbed from the relief of it, but then...

He did stop. He did turn to go. But he took the tray with him. Her food. Her water. He took it. The boy took it.

He...he was the one who had been keeping her alive. He brought food and water. After...after the men, he brought medicine and washcloths. He brought her clothes back to her. He looked, but never touched. He was a boy. They had a code. They had a routine. They had...she thought they had an understanding. He was supposed to be the safe one. He was... he was supposed to be...

"_I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."_ That's what he had said. There was alcohol, maybe he was just drunk...maybe he didn't mean it...

No, no she shouldn't allow herself those kinds of thoughts. This was her fault. She had allowed herself to believe that the boy, _the man_, was different from the others. She had allowed herself to believe he was safe- not because he was, but because she wanted him to be...because even after everything, she was desperate to believe that there was still someone on her side.

Tears poured down her face in sheets. She hadn't cried since her first day here. She had refused to give in to tears. She had withstood fear, shock, interrogation and extreme violation, but this... This betrayal broke her.

oOo

Time passed before the man returned. Time passed, that's all she knew. Calculating how much time had passed was beyond her. Sometimes she was asleep, sometimes she was awake- honestly, it all felt the same. Nothing felt real anymore. She couldn't remember when anything had last felt real.

Her stomach ached from hunger. Her throat burned from thirst. She was hallucinating...or maybe dreaming. From time to time, she wouldn't be alone. Someone from her life before would be with her. Once it had been Angela trying to convince her to go out dancing, saying she needed to get it out of her system before she had to start wearing holiday sweaters and baking cupcakes for the baby. Another time it had been Hodgins asking her if she had started naming the cockroaches with her in captivity yet. She'd told him no. He told her to give it time, that she would. Most recently it had been Cam, seeming confused, wanting to know which bathroom she was using these days.

She knew enough to know these visits weren't real. That didn't stop her from missing them when they were gone.

Then he came back. There hadn't been any knocking since the last time. The others seemed to have decided to leave her alone. When she heard the three taps, she considered the possibility that it was a hallucination. But there were footsteps, the telltale shuffling.

She wanted to cower, to hide.

She wanted to lunge for him, to hold onto him like a lifeline. To beg for the water she was sure he would have.

For the briefest instant, Booth was beside her, right beside her. She was so weak, she couldn't lift her head, but she shifted her eyes to look at him. He looked so clean. Wrong for this basement. He shouldn't be here. He didn't say anything. He just looked at her. No, he glared. She could feel his disappointment.

But then Booth was gone. He had never been there in the first place. She was glad. He didn't belong.

The man with the translucent eyes had made it down the stairs, and that was real. He was holding a tray. Water. Rice. She was desperate for it.

He approached her, but he didn't put down the tray. The rules had changed.

"I'm not like the others." He spoke with the tone she had noticed people tended to use with children. She'd always hated that tone. "I won't hurt you. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. Do you understand?"

He received no acknowledgement, so he spoke again, harder this time. "Joy, I need to know you understand."

And she did. She understood. She nodded.

He smiled.

She wanted him dead.

"Take off your clothes?" It was a question.

If she didn't, he would take the food and the water again. She would die.

She wanted to die. She really, really wanted to die. But her body, it was desperate to live. Desperate for food. Desperate for water. Willing to do anything. Absolutely anything.

She hated her body.

He was still smiling.

She hated him.

The water glass was perched on the tray in his hands.

It taunted her.

She so wanted to die.

But then she began unbuttoning her shirt.


	22. What Passes for Sane on a Bad Day

**Author's Note: **So, I've had the flu and have basically been asleep since Sunday. This has caused me to break a few of my fanfiction rules: 1. I stick to posting schedules (sorry for missing Monday's update!) 2. I respond to reviews. I especially feel bad about the second rule, as I know the last chapter was intense. A couple of general responses: Observant readers have noticed that Brennan's been held for more than two weeks. I said she wouldn't be held for six weeks; I didn't say it would only be two. Some of you are afraid this story is too dark to continue reading. I certainly understand. If you're able, I would suggest sticking with it for three more chapters as some pretty big changes are on the way...just to see if that affects how you feel. But if you can't continue, no hard feelings; I appreciate you giving it a chance in the first place. :)

**Chapter 22: What Passes for Sane on a Bad Day.**

Booth crossed the conference room to pour his fifth glass of water. He wasn't thirsty, but he had to have something to do. He couldn't sit quietly in his cushioned, high-backed chair and listen to the others with their maps and profiles and risk assessments. He had to keep moving.

"Look, these are high priority targets we're talking about. The materials used in the bombings indicate an impressive collection of explosions. Now that we know the location, we've got them. We could keep them under surveillance for a while, trace their suppliers. This could be huge..."

"_Cheri,_ you have lost your mind. You cannot seriously be advocating failure to intervene in the abduction of a civilian."

"Of course not. What I _am_ advocating is taking into serious consideration the larger implications."

"What you're talking about is trading the life of one for the hypothetical well-being of the many."

"What he's talking about is trading the life of one for headlines and a career boost."

"Well, either way, that's not what we do here..."

Booth lapped the room with his water. His grip was so tight, he fully expected the glass to shatter in his hands. To him, this case was about Bones. Nothing else. But to the others, this was about bringing down a domestic terrorist group, with his partner being just a small piece of something bigger.

"Dr. Brennan's safety has to take priority here. This has to be undertaken as a rescue mission. All the psychological indicators point to the precariousness of her situation. They will kill her with the slightest provocation. We have to get her out. It's unethical, knowing where she is and not acting with all due haste..."

"Dr. Sweets, you have to look at the profile of the group as a whole. They are paranoid. They view Coker as some form of deity. They are well-armed, and they truly believe that their purpose on this earth is to bring about some sort of new era. They are looking for any excuse to do so- violently. Yes, Dr. Brennan's safety has to take priority, but it would also be unethical to rush in for a rescue without a full situational analysis. This could easily spiral into a Waco-like situation, putting Dr. Brennan and law enforcement at further risk..."

"Exactly. Look, no one wants to waste time, but we cannot rush this. Our success will hinge on careful planning and cooperation."

Booth focused his gaze on a ladybug crawling across the shellacked wall next to the flat screen. He peered closer. _No wait, it's orange, not red. Not a ladybug, then. Asian beetle. _Clearly he'd spent too much time with Hodgins. Still, the Asian beetle was a gift. It gave him an object of focus. Something to watch. Something do rather than completely lose it in a room full of ATF representatives, HRT and SWAT analysts, Caroline, Hacker, his buddies from Hate Crimes, Sweets and the entire Behavioral Analysis Unit out of Quantico.

Because he _was_ losing it. He had held on for three weeks. It had been the worst time in his life, but he'd held on. But now, thirty-six hours into a tactical planning meeting, all that was standing between him and a complete violent breakdown was a fucking Asian beetle.

If it had been up to him, Vantrease Mining Co. in Pendleton County, WV would have been crawling with SWAT agents seconds after he'd received the call from Hodgins. He'd been at the Jeffersonian, delivering the news to her people in person, when he'd realized that wasn't going to happen. Hacker had called telling him he needed to return to the Hoover for a meeting. A fucking meeting. Booth had argued. There was no way, _no way_, that he would be sitting in a conference room when he knew how to bring his partner home. Fuck his career, he'd go to West Virginia himself. Angela had supported this decision, quickly offering up Hodgins' private jet to take him there. Offering up Hodgins himself as back-up. To the Bug Man's everlasting credit, he didn't blink. He nodded, asking Booth what else he could do.

Hannah and Cam, they'd been the voices of reason. Cam took the squints, Hannah took him. The argument used was pretty similar to the one just expressed by the Director of Hate Crimes. Success was contingent upon caution and planning. Rushing in like a super hero would make him feel better, but it could get Bones killed. He already knew these things...he just had to accept them.

And he did. Of course he did. Because he was a good agent, and he loved his partner, and he would not trade her life for an end to his desperation. He let Hannah lead him out of the Jeffersonian, back to his car, back to the Hoover. It was the right thing to do, but on his way out the door, he looked back. Angela. He could see it in her eyes. She'd never forgive him.

Back in the present, the beetle was making its way across the flat screen, skittering along the edge. Booth watched and tried to control his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Gordon Gordon would be so proud. He could not start yelling. He could not say what was running through his mind. He should probably not speak at all. Hacker had made it clear that his position on this team was tenuous. People doubted his objectivity. _Fair enough._

One outburst, that would be all it took for him to be booted from this room, to be denied official access to the investigation and rescue operation. He was seething, furious at the lost time, but he had to hold it in. He had to be there when they found her. And while nothing would keep him out of West Virginia, he had to be on the official rescue team. Bones was his priority. Everyone else was thinking bigger, and that was fine, but there had to be someone on that team thinking only of her- of keeping her safe and bringing her home. There had to be someone willing to risk the big picture for her. Someone willing to trade his life for hers. It had to be him.

They were pulling up maps of the old mining compound on the flat screen. The light startled the beetle, and it quickly raced away. Booth once again refilled his water glass, his heartbeat picking up once SWAT and HRT took over, outlining areas for surveillance. He remained standing, situated in the corner across from the screen, memorizing the map. He zeroed in on the schematics for one of the old buildings- it had housed an underground tornado shelter. If he was going to hold someone captive in that compound, it would be in that shelter.

When they got to West Virginia, when they made their move, he'd be sure to be on the team entering that building. The others could do what they liked, but he'd be getting her out of what he was sure was her underground prison.

Logistical plans were being made. Booth wildly searched the wall for his beetle. He needed it again; he needed to avoid thinking about Bones spending three weeks underground.

"So it's agreed. We leave at exactly 18:00."

Booth returned his attention to the room. He looked at Hawez for confirmation; the other man nodded. One hour. 18:00 was in one hour.

It was time to bring her home.


	23. The Free Will Myth

**Author's Note: **As always, special thanks to Amilyn for being such a fantastic beta!

**Chapter 23 The Free Will Myth.**

It smelled like cookies. The kind with almonds, the ones her final foster parent- Miss Anna- used to make on Saturdays. She had liked Miss Anna. She was elderly, single. Temperance had been sent to her when Family Services had found out about the trunk incident. It was a nice place to go- quiet, safe. Miss Anna didn't push, didn't try to make her fit some mold. She let her study and keep to herself. She let her help make the cookies on Saturdays.

Miss Anna had died before Temperance had finished college. Miss Anna had died. Now she, too, was going to die.

For a moment, she considered Booth's version of the afterlife. In that version, the cookie smell, it would have been a sign. It would have been there to comfort her- to let her know that Miss Anna was waiting to take care of her again.

It was a nice thought until she remembered that Booth's God was picky. Even if Heaven were more than a myth, she wouldn't be allowed in. Booth had told her that himself. It hadn't offended her, because she'd known his story wasn't real.

Right now, curled up on the hard ground, once again without her clothes, she found comfort in her own version of death. The accurate version. The version in which one's body shuts down and you cease to be. Ceasing to be...it was all she wanted.

They had just left, the men. Twelve of them. Every man she'd ever encountered since her stay here, with the exception of the man with the translucent eyes. She knew them by their smells, by their grips. She knew them by the way they pinned her. She knew them by the names they called her.

They had just left, and somewhere along the way, she had left too. Her clothes were shredded, there would be no more putting them back on after this. It was okay. She was shredded too. She just had to stay here a little longer. Death would come soon. She could feel her ribs, so close to the surface of her skin- it might be the malnutrition that would take her. Her breath came in wheezing gasps from the damp and the mold- a severe respiratory infection wouldn't be such a bad way to go. Of course, it could just be the men who killed her.

While they were down there with her, while they were taking turns, the men who were standing around were whispering. She had focused on their words, rather than what was happening to her. She heard things like "contingency" and "failure" and "bringing about the end." She understood that there had been a plan. It had involved her, and it had failed. She also understood that the men had no intention of accepting failure and moving on. Something was going to happen. Whatever it was, she did not plan on living through it.

She'd made every wrong choice since the start of her captivity. She understood that now. She should have fought, back when she thought she was a bargaining chip. No matter how small her chances, it would have been better to die fighting. She should never have allowed herself the delusion that this could turn out okay; she should never have trusted the man with the eyes. She should never have prostituted herself out for food. She'd done it twice, her body betraying her, demanding to be kept alive. She would not do it again. She almost hoped he'd offer the chance, just so she could tell him no. She would make the choice. Death would be her decision. It was a small thing, but she'd take it.

Then, as if she'd conjured him with her thoughts, she heard it- three firm knocks. Her lips curled in disgust, her eyes narrowed. If he'd wanted to use her, he should have come earlier with his friends. He should have held her down, crushing her, making it impossible to draw a breath or utter a sound. He was not going to get what he wanted from her now. She would no longer allow him to believe that he wasn't just like them.

She listened to the dragging of his foot on the stairs. She took a moment to imagine what had left him disabled. It might have been something genetic, or some sort of childhood illness...but she hoped it had been something more violent than that. Something painful.

He was visible to her now, at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness. He was walking toward her, but he didn't hold a tray- just a bucket and a washcloth. It infuriated her, that he was apparently going to deny her the ability to deny him. He sat the bucket on the floor, held out his hands.

"It's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you."

She wanted to say something- something venomous, something that would make him feel her hatred...but her starved brain couldn't make her mouth form the words. She glared. It was the best she could do.

"I'm going to help. I know they were here. I'm just going to clean you up."

He approached her with the cloth, started touching her. She shook and kicked as hard as she could. Her hands were still restrained. He wouldn't stop.

"I know, I know it hurts. I just need to clean up the blood."

She screamed. Loudly. Coherent thought wasn't needed to scream. She wanted to scare him away.

But it didn't work. Nothing she did ever worked.

He ignored her screams. His next words were whispered, placed right at her ear. "Things are changing here. You understand, right? The contingency is being put into place. It's time for us to leave this world, time to go into the next. You...you don't have to go with us. Do you understand?"

She didn't. She didn't understand, and she didn't care. She kicked again, harder, landing a blow to his side. She wanted him to go. She wanted his smell to stop invading her senses. She wanted to die, and she didn't want to see him while she was doing it.

"I don't have clothes to bring you. Just stay still, I'm going to cut off the ties. You don't have to go with us."

He snipped the zip ties at her wrists, and she began to hit and claw in earnest, trying to make up for all of her missed opportunities. He stepped back, easily avoiding her. He shuffled to the stairs, then stared at her one last time. "It's your choice, Joy."

She didn't even bother with anger at those words. He was leaving. She heard him dragging his foot back up the stairs. She'd be able to die alone.

But then she realized what she didn't hear- the slamming of the heavy door at the top of the stairs. Had he not really left? Was he standing somewhere in the stairwell, waiting to attack her, to take her by surprise? Why?

She was so tired- of everything, but especially of the games. What they did to her was bad...what they made her fear was worse. She would confront this directly.

She pulled herself up on unsteady legs and slowly made her way to the stairs. She was prepared to find him there. She was prepared for him to attack.

She was entirely unprepared for what she saw.

There was no one on the staircase, but the door was not closed. It was propped open against a cinderblock brick. There was a bright sliver of light pouring onto the stairs.

Escape. Freedom.

But she wasn't prepared for either of those things. She was prepared for death. Besides, it had to be a trick. She would walk up those stairs into...what? Something horrifying, no doubt. She didn't know where she was. One open door wouldn't necessarily lead to others. The other men, even if they weren't waiting on the other side of the door, they'd surely find her.

But still. There was hope.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She no longer knew how to handle hope. She was _so angry_ at again being left to make what would surely be the wrong decision. Because no matter what she did, it would undoubtedly lead to her death.

But they had to make it her choice.


	24. A Betrayal of Almonds

**Chapter 24: A Betrayal of Almonds.**

She didn't stand there long, naked and hurt and crying at the bottom of the stairs. It didn't take much time for her to accept the sliver of light pouring through the door for what it was- an end.

Escape. Freedom. Death. It truly made no difference to her, as long as she achieved one of them. As long as _this_ came to an end. As long as she didn't have to live another hour in this underground cell.

She had no clothes. She knew they would think that would somehow keep her in her prison. In her old life, she'd seen enough of men like these to understand that they somehow believed they could shame her into never leaving. _Surely she'd be too humiliated to run away without her clothing. Surely, she wouldn't want anyone to see her that way. _Maybe that would work with many women. But not her. So she'd be found naked? So what? Better to be found naked above ground than under. Her jaw clenched. It would take more than shame to keep her still.

She was weak. This was more difficult to overcome. She tried to assess her condition, but her mind was too foggy. She was starving and dehydrated and injured...but she could already feel her heart racing; she could already feel the flow of adrenaline propelling her forward.

She swiped at her tears, approached the stairs, and began to crawl.

It was torture, reaching the top. She could barely catch her breath, and she almost collapsed as she pushed the heavy door that had held her prisoner for so long. She didn't, though. She kept pushing, and then she was in another room, big and empty.

She dragged herself to the old wooden door, tried the knob, and found it locked.

The angry tears started again. It shouldn't have been an obstacle, the old door. If she hadn't been starved and beaten, she would have been able to kick it down easily. She shrieked in frustration, not caring if it brought the men running.

Maybe they'd come and kill her. An end. She had to have an end.

She gathered up all the force she could manage and pushed against the door. Once, twice, three times. It took everything she had. She collapsed against the frame, feeling her back fill with splinters.

She was going to give up. She would die here, alone, against the old wooden door.

Except that there was window. Tilted out, open. She hadn't seen it at first, and she almost wished she hadn't seen it now.

_Why couldn't they just let her give up?_

She forced herself to stand, ignoring the pain that radiated throughout her entire body. Ignoring the fact that she no longer felt human.

She didn't want to cry anymore, so she began laughing. The sounds she made were dark and bitter, and it didn't matter, because no one could hear her anyway. She pulled her way to the window. It was dark out, but she could tell it would be daylight soon.

And she was going to die in the sunshine.

oOo

_In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth._ He would keep himself in check. He was so close. His years as a sniper had conditioned him well. He crouched in the woods- he was a statue, holding his position in the staging area, waiting for the signal to go and get his partner back.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._ The slight rise and fall of his chest would have been the only sign that he was a living being. Adrenaline was coursing through his system, but he could control it. He had been trained. He knew how to wait.

The mining compound consisted of seven buildings- Booth kept his binoculars trained on the one located the farthest from his position. The building with the underground shelter. She was there- he could feel it. He drew in another carefully controlled breath. Just a little while longer.

Hodgins had been right- the terrain surrounding the Vantrease Mining compound had indeed been a nightmare. Paved roads had ended miles before they reached their destination. The ground was rocky and littered with steep drop-offs that appeared without warning. It had taken an hour to get to Pendleton County, then another hour to get into position. They were down a man after one of the HRT guys fell victim to a surprise drop-off. A compound break was the result- he was currently toughing it out with Hacker and the head ATF guy, back in the van serving as the command and communications center.

They'd made it, though. They were here, just outside the perimeter of the compound. Surveillance indicated that thirteen individuals were present, this number matching what Booth, Hawez and Callahan had been able to put together through the financial traces. There had been quite a bit of activity on the compound throughout the night, but there had been no sign of Bones.

_In though the nose, out through the mouth._ It was okay. If she was being held underground, surveillance wouldn't have been able to pick her up. She was there. She had to be there. It was better for her, really, that she wasn't being held in one of the buildings above ground...with all of the men.

His breath faltered at the thought of his partner, of _his_ Bones, up there, the only female with thirteen insane men.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._ He checked his watch. Forty-five minutes until sunrise. That was when they'd make their move. That was when he'd be going after Bones. He'd gotten the assignment he'd wanted...well, demanded. No one had argued. Back in D.C., Sweets had started to protest out of some sort of misguided concern, but Hacker had shut him down. _Maybe the guy isn't so bad._

_Forty-five minutes._ That was nothing, nothing compared to three weeks. He'd have her home tonight. He'd have her home, in her own bed. He planned on being in the spare room across the hall. He'd have her home, and he wouldn't let her out of his sight.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._ There might be a fourteenth man, he decided. Surely they wouldn't have left her alone underground, without a guard. This was Bones- if she wasn't under constant supervision, she would've already found a way to escape. He'd plan on a fourteenth man. He'd plan on shooting to kill.

He'd take pleasure in it.

_Twenty minutes._ Before he'd left D.C., he'd noticed that Russ Brennan had called. The man had called twice a day, every day since his sister had disappeared. Booth hadn't answered once. He knew Cam had spoken to him, kept him up-to-date on the case. Still, Booth felt a small twinge of guilt. Obviously Russ was worried about his sister...but not worried enough to bring his ass to D.C. and help find her, not worried enough to move Hell and high water to get a message to his bastard father, not worried enough to have told his sister the truth in the first place and possibly have prevented all of this.

Calling wasn't enough. It just wasn't. If a member of Booth's family had gone missing, he would have stopped at nothing to bring them back. Damned if he wouldn't have done more than call for an update. He'd waste no more guilt on Russ Brennan. _Fuck that guy._

_In through the nose, out through the mouth. _

_Ten minutes._ Booth subtly reached down to check his weapon, his eyes never leaving the building where he believed they were holding Bones. The medics would be getting in to place now, preparing to help the injured.

She'd fight him when he tried to put her on the ambulance. He was sure of it. She always did. It was silly, really, her unwillingness to seek medical attention. He remembered how she'd argued with him when she'd been stabbed in the arm by a crazy doctor, how she kept saying she could handle it. Sure, no one liked hospitals, but god, it was almost like she had a phobia.

He'd bring it up with Sweets when they got home.

His earpiece crackled. There it was, the signal. It was time.

Booth fell into position, keeping low, moving quietly toward the perimeter.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth. In though the nose, out through the mouth. _ The raid had been meticulously planned. In and out, before the men even had time to process their arrival.

_Minutes._ She would be in his arms in minutes.

They moved slowly, methodically. Every footstep was calculated, silent.

He was close enough that he no longer required the aid of the binoculars. The compound was completely still. There wasn't a single person outside.

They'd catch them asleep, just as planned. _Perfect._

They were there, right at the perimeter.

Booth could sense all of the other teams taking their places.

_In and out_.

He paused, waited for the signal to move forward, but then he smelled it.

_Almonds._

He began to move back, jerk his teammates with him, before his mind could even process why.

It hit him. _C4._ C4 smelled like almonds.

Someone else must have realized it at the same time, because the order was given to retreat. The carefully planned formation fell apart as agents began to scatter.

But he couldn't retreat. Bones. He didn't have her yet.

Orders were being shouted. Someone was calling his name.

He was trying to move forward, trying to get to her, but he was being pulled back.

He couldn't...he had to... He would not. He would not leave here without her

But then the world went black, and the choice was no longer his to make.


	25. The Moments That Follow

**Author's Note: **I'm overwhelmed by the support this story has received. I really am grateful that you've taken the time to read it.

**Chapter 25: The Moments That Follow.**

Booth didn't have to call them with the news. Cam, Sweets, Hodgins, Angela, Caroline, and Hannah- they were all together. They were at the Jeffersonian, wanting to be available in case their expertise was needed...wanting to be together, in case it was too painful to be alone.

In the early hours of the morning, they were draped over the various surfaces in Angela's office- sleeping, or pretending to. They didn't think to leave the television on, but it didn't matter anyway. Hannah was a journalist. She always got the news before it aired.

"Oh, God. Oh, no. Please."

Never the words you want to wake up to.

They surrounded her in an instant, and she gestured for them to turn on the television. Angela grabbed the remote and stood frozen at the scene on the morning news.

_Tragedy in the Mountains. _That's how the caption read. The anchor was cutting away to someone "live on the scene" who was basically explaining that there was no information, other than word of a serious explosion in the Alleghany Mountains.

"What do you know? At what point in the raid did the explosion take place? What about the agents? Are they okay?" Hannah was grilling whoever was on the other end of the line.

Everyone else shifted their gazes between her and the screen.

"Dear God. Sweet Lord Jesus." Caroline watched as the camera panned out, showing the flames from the explosion.

Hodgins put his arms around his wife, forcing her to lean on him. "We don't know anything yet. Everything might be okay. Maybe this is what happened after they got in and got her out."

No one believed him, but no one was willing to say so either.

"You're right, we don't know anything." Cam glanced at Hannah who was still firing questions, but seemingly receiving few answers. "Sweets, Caroline, can either of you get Booth or Hacker on the phone? We need to know what's going on."

Sweets shrugged helplessly, in shock. Caroline took out her phone and started dialing. When she didn't receive an answer, she just started over again. Finally, someone picked up.

"Hacker what the hell has happened now? All y'all's talking and planning, and this mess is what I wake up to?" She held out the phone and shook her head at his response. "_Cheri,_ I don't give a damn. What is the condition of the agents?"

She smiled and flashed a thumbs-up at the group. Cam started to cry. Hannah collapsed on the couch.

"What about the people in the compound?" There was a pause, no thumbs-up this time. "I see...and Dr. Brennan?...I see. Yes, yes I understand. The minute you hear anything, Hacker. Don't make me call you." Her words were tough, but her tone was weary and her chin was puckered. She turned to circle of people around her. "Booth's okay. The WHR must have known they were coming. Or, hell, maybe they were just crazy. They ignited the explosives before the agents even penetrated the perimeter. There were some injuries, but nothing critical. Booth is being treated by medics on the scene. Hacker says he won't even need to go to the hospital."

"What about Bren?" Angela's voice was sharp. "What about Bren?"

Caroline couldn't meet her stare. "They are trying to put out the fire on the compound. We won't know anything official until investigators are able to process the scene."

"But unofficially?" It was Hodgins. He didn't want to ask. But he had to.

"She's dead," Sweets answered when Caroline couldn't. "She's dead. They all are." His voice was flat, his face blank. "They weren't going to continue in this world without their leader. Mass suicide. It's common with cults under stress. From the moment they took her...she never really had a chance."

oOo

She was...she didn't know where she was. She'd climbed through that open window and ran until she collapsed. In the grass, in the air. She lay there, waiting to die, waiting to be discovered, waiting for the sun to rise. But then the world had caught fire, and she crossed one of those possibilities off of her list.

There would be no one left to discover her.

oOo

Booth's ears were ringing. He was sitting in a chair in a makeshift medical tent as a doctor made him follow a light with his eyes. There was something...something to be done...but his mind couldn't quite grab a hold of it.

He had been a statue, and there were almonds, and then...

"Bones!" He jerked away from the doctor and his light. He fled the tent, trying to reach the compound. Trying to reach his partner.

There were people in his way, but he took no notice. He just kept pushing through.

"Booth. Booth." A voice he recognized. Someone he liked. Hawez.

He stopped for this agent, looked at him hopefully. But Agent Hawez shook his head.

"You can't go down there. The put out the fire, but...Booth, there's no one alive down there."

And that stopped him. Hawez was wrong- he _could _have gone down there. He _would_ have...but he couldn't see her burned.

He hardened himself, turned from his friend and sought out his boss. That weak bastard had tears in his eyes. Booth wanted to yell that he had no right to tears. He wanted to remind him that he could have produced Max Keenan and prevented this.

But he wanted information more.

"Are they all dead?"

"They're still collecting remains. There are at least thirteen bodies, though, according to the techs."

"Thirteen?"

"At least. Booth, some of them were scattered...it's possible..."

Booth interrupted, couldn't bear to watch as this man, this man who _could have stopped this_, began to fall apart. "How do we plan to identify them? How do we plan to make sure?"

"Well, the Jeffersonian..."

"No. No, absolutely not. Not the men. If we find...if we find _her, _then okay. But not the men. Let the ME here handle it."

It wasn't Booth's place to give orders or make such decisions, but Hacker nodded. Not the Jeffersonian.

"Is there a search party in the woods, just in case one of them didn't want to drink the Kool-Aid?" He wouldn't be able to stand it if a single one of those men outlived his partner.

"Yeah," Hacker pointed to the sky, "the helicopters are searching."

oOo

She was at the ocean. The wind was pounding at her face. She could hear the waves crashing.

But that didn't make sense. Because she was in the mountains. She remembered coming to the mountains.

You can't be at both the mountains and the ocean.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you tell me your name?"

A sheet was covering her, someone was tucking her in. They were talking to her, but she couldn't hear them over the waves.

"Ma'am?"

It was a man. She tensed, started thrashing. He was wrapping her up, trying to lift her. She couldn't...she didn't want him touching her...

"Ma'am, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Are you Doctor Temperance Brennan?"

That's not...that's not what the men called her. That was her name, but that's not what they called her. He said he wouldn't hurt her...he was a liar...she had to keep fighting.

"It's okay, it's okay. We're going to take you to the hospital. It's going to be okay."

He was a liar...but she couldn't fight. She needed to close her eyes. She was still waiting for the end.

oOo

Booth was sitting in the communications van, trying to avoid the stares of his fellow agents. Trying to think about the call home he needed to make. Trying to come up with a way to say what had to be said.

Hacker was there too, so was the guy from the ATF. Booth had never bothered to learn his name. It didn't matter anymore.

He'd almost gotten up the nerve to leave the van, to call D.C., to confess his failure. He was going to do it, but the radio crackled and all three men jumped to alert.

"This is Chopper 4, repeat this is Chopper 4. Requesting communication with Command."

Hacker grabbed the radio. "Go ahead with your message, Chopper 4."

"A female survivor has been found in the woods. She is stable, but non-communicative. Beginning transport to Lynchburg General."

"Copy that Chopper 4. Over."

Hacker turned to Booth. "It has to be her."

Both men were out of the van, heading toward one of the SUV's. Hacker called over his shoulder to the man from the ATF. "Agent Booth and I are headed to Lynchburg for information on the female survivor. Keep us posted on progress here."

It had to be her.


	26. The Significance of Being Seen

**Author's Note: **Amilyn, beta extraordinaire, was very helpful with this chapter. You should all check out her one-shot, The Remains in the Tropics.

**Chapter 26: The Significance of Being Seen.**

She was awake. She was awake, but it hurt to open her eyes. The light, it was too much. She was lying down, but she was moving...being pushed. There were tubes, needles. A hospital, but it could be a dream. One more thing that wasn't real.

The moving stopped, but she still didn't want to open her eyes. It hurt, and she was afraid of what she might see. She was not alone. There were voices, but she didn't recognize any of them. Infection...exposure...dehydration...sexual trauma. They were talking about her. The sounds came to her in bursts, distorted. They sounded like shrieks. They were painful. She wanted to move her hands, cover her ears, but she couldn't. She couldn't move her hands, and that felt real.

That felt familiar.

oOo

He didn't bother with a parking space. He found the emergency entrance and threw the SUV into park. Hacker could deal with the car. His badge was flashing as he entered the hospital running.

"FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth. A woman in her thirties was brought here via helicopter about thirty minutes ago. I need to see her."

The woman at the desk hesitated, and Booth was done waiting around. A nurse entered the waiting room to call a patient back, and he slipped past her into the treatment area. She called after him, but he ignored her, opening doors and curtains, looking for his partner.

"Sir, you have to stop. Sir. You can't be back here."

Booth turned to face a man in blue scrubs. He held up his badge. "FBI. A victim was brought in half an hour ago by chopper. I need to see her."

"Well, you can't just go barging into patient's rooms. This is a hospital, for God's sake."

Booth tried for what felt like the millionth time to steady his breath, control his rage. "Then Take. Me. To. Her."

He could tell that his tone set the doctor, nurse, orderly-whoever the hell he was- on edge. The man gave him appraising look, trying to asses his mental stability

Eventually the badge must have won him over, because he held up a hand in appeasement and said, "Okay. Just wait here by the nurses' station. I'll see if I can find her for you."

oOo

This was real. She was in hospital. She wasn't dead. She wouldn't be going back to her cell.

Freedom. She wouldn't have believed it, but among all the unfamiliar noises, she heard a sound she recognized. Booth, yelling. Booth was here, and that meant freedom.

He was demanding to see her, and she forced her eyes open. A woman in pink was pushing buttons on the monitor beside her bed. Brennan made eye contact, began shaking her head. She cut her eyes toward the door and the sound of Booth's voice, then back to the nurse.

"No." It was a whisper. "No. Please."

She couldn't see him. Not yet. Not when she wasn't herself. She needed time to adjust to freedom over death. She needed time to remember how to be his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan.

The nurse's eyes were kind. She understood. She touched Brennan's shoulder gently, and Brennan tried not to shudder.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

oOo

The man in blue turned to leave, and Booth had no intention of staying put. He was going to resume his search of the rooms when a door opened down the hall. A small woman, young-looking and in pink scrubs, approached him.

"Are you looking for the woman brought in from West Virginia?"

He released the breath he'd been holding for weeks. Finally. "Yes. Are you her nurse? Can you take me to her?"

Her smile was kind, but her words were firm. "She's not able to have visitors right now."

What did that mean, "not able to have visitors"? What was wrong with her? Had she been hurt in the explosion? Didn't they know how long he had been waiting?

The panic must have been visible on his face, because the nurse answered the questions he hadn't been able to ask out loud.

"She's going to be fine, but she needs to rest right now."

"I just need to see her. We...," he tried not to let his voice crack, "I'm with the FBI, and we believe she may be a kidnapping victim from D.C. We need to make an identification."

The nurse kept her smile professional. "Do you have a picture? Perhaps I could identify her, then you could talk to her when she's cleared medically."

Booth tried not to let his frustration show. An identification. Confirmation that his partner was okay. He held up the official FBI photograph and watched as the nurse scrutinized his partner's features.

She looked up. "Yes, I would say that my patient and your victim are most definitely the same person."

His eyes closed in relief, and he staggered at the force of dread being sucked away. "Then I need to speak with her right away. I'm going to need a statement." It was the truth, he supposed. There'd have to be an official statement. Right now, though, it was an excuse to get to Bones.

"Agent..."

"Booth."

"Thank you. Agent Booth, I realize that you need a statement, but my patient needs to be fully assessed and treated-"

"Wait, I thought you said she was going to be okay-"

"Her condition is stable, and none of her injuries appear to be life-threatening, but that doesn't mean she doesn't require treatment. That has to come first."

"Look," Booth no longer tried to control his tone, "she's my partner, okay? Just tell her I'm here. She'll want to see me, just ask-"

The nurse held a hand up to stop him. "Agent Booth. I understand that you're worried, and I understand that you have a job to do. I have a job to do too. My patient is my priority, and all the time I'm spending with you is taking away from the time I need to be spending with her. Have a seat in the waiting room." She softened a bit. "I'll come and get you as soon as she's ready. I promise."

He was surprised to find himself blinking back tears. He needed to see her. It wouldn't feel real until he was able to see her...but he wanted her taken care of, and the nurse was right. He nodded.

"Fine. But the minute there's any news, any news at all, I want you to find me."

"Absolutely."

"Tell her I'm here, okay? Tell her I'm waiting for her."

"I'll tell her."

oOo

Brennan waited anxiously for the nurse to return, grateful that when she came back, she was alone.

"You're Temperance Brennan?"

Brennan nodded her head. She was Temperance Brennan. Doctor Temperance Brennan.

"There is an FBI agent in our waiting room who's very anxious to lay eyes on you."

Brennan nodded again, swallowing back tears. It was still unbearable, the thought of being seen.

"He can wait though." The young nurse smiled at her.

"Thank you." She was trying to get used to the sound of her own voice once again.

There was a knock on the door, and Brennan flinched.

"It's okay, that will just be the doctor."

The nurse was trying to calm her, but Brennan's heart-rate spiked. _The knocking._

But it wasn't a man. It wasn't a man. Another woman, like the nurse. Taller, older, with a white coat, she was speaking...

"Temperance, I can tell you've been through quite an ordeal..."

Brennan tried to focus. It was important to listen to doctors when they spoke. She just...the knocking...she couldn't stop hearing it...and the lights were still too bright...

"Temperance? Temperance? It's okay. It's okay, you're in the hospital..."

She couldn't get enough air. She was gasping for it, she was pinned, and she couldn't move, couldn't breathe...

"Temperance, you're okay." The voice was louder. Female. "You're okay. I need you to breathe."

She gasped. She was in the hospital. She wasn't alone, but she wasn't with the men. She was with medical professionals. She was going to be okay.

She steadied her breath, flushing with embarrassment at her loss of control. The two women were looking at her with knowing, pitying eyes.

She hated them. Just like she hated the men.

Everyone was silent for a while, but then the doctor started speaking again, acting as though nothing had happened. She was explaining her treatment, all of the things that had already been done. She was pointing out tubes, talking about electrolytes and antibiotics. Brennan realized that she had on a hospital gown; she wracked her brain, trying to remember putting it on.

"Temperance? Did you understand me? I said we need to examine your wounds, then we need to perform a rape kit, okay?"

Why was everyone so loud, so shrill? She couldn't understand when they were shouting at her. Wait, the doctor was touching her...Why? Why was she touching her?

"Temperance, you have to relax," It was the nurse speaking this time. "You can't jerk like that. You're going to pull out the tubes."

They were going to examine her wounds. They were going to perform a rape kit. That's what the doctor had said.

Once again, she tried to pull herself together. _I am Doctor Temperance Brennan._ She tried to force her world to right itself. "A rape kit isn't necessary." She tried to sound authoritative, like herself. "There were too many...and they're all dead. There won't be any charges filed."

She caught the surprised that flitted across the doctor's face. Apparently she was not expecting coherence from this particular patient. "I know, Temperance, but we still need to do the exam. We need to check the extent of your injuries."

Brennan nodded. She understood.

"Is there anyone you want us to call? We could maybe wait a little while if you wanted someone to be here with you?"

That was the nurse. Her voice was soft, and Brennan tried not to hate her. She shook her head. There was no one.

After that, she concentrated on remaining as still as possible. She was being touched, wounds were being cleaned and dressed, blood was being drawn. And she was being a statue. Like the game she used to play with her brother on road trips when they were small. _Quiet mouse, still mouse..._

She allowed herself to be maneuvered and prodded...invaded. She was a statue. Stone.

She heard a snap as the doctor removed her gloves. Gloves, snapping...that was one of _her _sounds. From before...from home...

"Temperance, I need to wait on lab results. I'll be back in thirty minutes, okay?"

Brennan didn't nod; she was not yet ready to move. The doctor left, but the nurse stayed behind.

"What's your name?" It was an attempt to be polite. She remembered, vaguely, that _before_, she had been trying to become more personable.

The nurse looked a little taken aback. "Thisbe." At the look on Brennan's face, she laughed. "I know, it's horrible. My mother was a Classical Studies professor. She was obsessed with mythology."

"It's not so horrible. A lot of people don't like Temperance either." There, she said it. Her name was Temperance.

Thisbe smiled again. "Do you want me to go get your partner? Agent Booth?"

Brennan tensed again, and the other woman's smile faded. "It's okay. We'll wait a little longer, see what the doctor says." Brennan relaxed as Thisbe turned on the television. "Let's see what the cartoon network has to offer us."

Brennan would have thought that an ER nurse would have had better things to do than watch a cat chase a particularly intelligent mouse, but Thisbe didn't seem inclined to leave...and that was okay. Brennan didn't hate her. As the show ended, there was another knock, but she was prepared this time. She tensed, but she stayed in control.

It was the doctor, holding a chart and some medication. "Temperance, we just got the results of your HIV rapid test. It was negative. I'm going to need you to go ahead and take these, though." She held up the pills. "This is HIV prophylaxis, and it could help to prevent the infection as a result of more recent exposure."

Her eyes widened. She hadn't died, but there were so many other things to think about than simply living. She felt the tears well. Not just HIV, but...

"Your pregnancy test was also negative, but I'll want you to take this as well." More medication. "It's commonly known as the Morning After pill. Again, it can prevent pregnancy from..."

Brennan tuned her out, mindlessly swallowing the medication. She wasn't sure of the date. She hadn't paid her rent...would they have evicted her? How long had she been gone? Had Cam already replaced her? Would she..."

"Temperance?"

Brennan looked up, swallowed.

"I know it's overwhelming, but you're going to be fine." The doctor and Thisbe exchanged a look. "The FBI agents are waiting to take a statement..." The doctor trailed off as Thisbe shook her head. "...but I think it's best if you sleep. The statement can wait until tomorrow. I could have a nurse administer a sedative while we arrange the paperwork to have you admitted, if you want. Do you think that would help?"

Brennan nodded. A sedative. She could close her eyes, not think. She could fade away.


	27. Playing Our Parts

**Chapter 27: Playing Our Parts.**

At some point Hacker had joined him in his waiting room vigil. The other man hadn't said a word, just dropped into the opposite chair and rested his head in his hands- the look on Booth's face must have been enough to let him know that there was no news.

Booth still had a call to make, and if he could just _see_ her, he'd be able to make it. The nurse had sounded positive when she'd ID'd Bones, but he was afraid to let himself believe it. He was afraid to call her people without being sure.

He stood abruptly. He _needed_ to see her. He'd just pop his head in, just to make sure. He started toward the doors leading to the treatment area, but something stopped him. Maybe if he wasn't so tired, maybe if he hadn't just survived an explosion...maybe then he would have been able to admit to himself that what stopped him was a fear of what he might find.

But he was in no state to be admitting anything to himself. He didn't question why he stopped, he just did. He returned to his chair. His thoughts returned to his phone call.

It was stupid. The nurse had identified her. Bones was here, in this hospital, alive. It was good news. It shouldn't be hard to deliver good news. He pulled out his phone, began scrolling through his missed calls. It was unfair to keep them waiting. His thumb hovered over the 'call' button. But...

He really should be sure. Just in case there was some sort of mistake. He shouldn't call until he'd seen her. Until _he'd_ confirmed it. He got back up, made his way back toward the door.

And once again his thoughts made the same tired loop through his mind. They sent him back to his chair. He went through this process twice more. He felt Hacker's stare, and when he once again stood to walk toward the treatment area, he heard his boss rustling around for his own phone.

"Hi Ms. Julian, it's me."

Booth turned, realizing that Hacker had put an end to his dilemma. He winced, watching his superior hold the phone away from his ear, presumably to mitigate the impact of Caroline's wrath.

"I'm sorry...yes...no, you were very clear earlier...yes, I-...no, I understand...of course you were speaking English...yes, I understand English..."

Typically, this would be the point at which Booth would just take the phone and rescue the poor soul who had found himself on the wrong side of Caroline Julian. Maybe she was immune to his charm, but he was immune to her bark. This wasn't typical, though, and if Hacker wanted to handle it...well, Booth was more than willing to let him.

"If you would just stop talking, I _could_ give you an update...No ma'am, I was not trying to sass you...yes, I understand you've all been-...Look, we found her."

Booth watched as Hacker waited a beat before continuing, seeming surprised that he was finally allowed to get a word in.

"There was a female survivor found in the woods. She must have escaped, but we don't have any details. The doctors are with her, but they say her condition is stable...No, we haven't seen her...Well, we can be sure, because the nurse identified her...Of course...Yes, I understand that you want to speak to Agent Booth, he's-"

Booth's eyes widened when he realized Hacker was about to hand the phone over to him.

"-He's not here...Sorry, Ms. Julian, I know he'll check in with you as soon as he can...Where do you think he is? Pestering all of the doctors to death, demanding to see her, you know how gets...Yes...No, I'm glad too...I promise to update you soon...Absolutely...Okay...Bye."

Hacker ended the call, and Booth didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to explain why he wasn't ready to speak to anyone yet. He didn't know how to thank the other man for realizing it and giving him an out.

But Hacker, goofy Hacker...well, it turns out the guy wasn't so bad to have around in an awkward situation. He made nothing of it. Just chuckled and said, "I don't think I ever realized how religious Caroline Julian is."

"She isn't."

"Oh yeah, well you wouldn't know it from the way she was threatening to have me burning for all eternity if I didn't provide more regular updates."

Booth laughed.

"Or from the way she started praising the Lord Almighty when she heard that Temperance had made it."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's just what people do in situations like these...when they get the ending they want."

"But no one does it quite like Caroline."

Booth allowed himself his first genuine smile since this whole ordeal began. "Ain't that the truth." He relaxed a little. Caroline would take care of the squints.

Just as he and Hacker were settling back into their chairs, the doors from the treatment area opened, and the young nurse from earlier stepped into the waiting room and began scanning the faces. Booth was at her side in an instant, with Hacker close behind.

"Is she okay? Can we go back there now?"

The nurse smiled the same infuriatingly placating smile she had used during their last interaction and held up her hand to slow him down.

"Physically, she's going to be fine. She's been through a lot, and she needs to stay here a couple of days so we can monitor and treat her dehydration, but she should be back in D.C. by the end of the week."

Booth ignored the fact that the nurse said Bones would be fine _physically_. He chose not to think about all the truth that could be gleaned through omission. He started forward, to find his partner, but the nurse wasn't finished.

"You can't talk to her yet. She's sleeping, so your statement will have to wait until tomorrow. They're in the process of transferring her to the third floor for observation."

Booth opened his mouth to argue, but Hacker clapped a hand on his shoulder, taking over.

"Thank you for updating us, Ma'am. We'll be back first thing tomorrow. You'll keep us posted if there's any change?"

"Of course."

The nurse left again, and Hacker kept his hand on Booth's shoulder.

"Do you remember the last time you slept? Because I don't. She's going to be okay. Let's get some sleep, so we can be here when she wakes up."

Booth shook his head, and Hacker didn't push. He just nodded and left with a promise to be back the next day.

Booth thought of Bones and all the time she'd spent waiting around in hospitals for him. There was nothing that could make him leave here without her.

He was shifting in his chair, trying to find the position most comfortable for his back when he felt his phone buzz. He checked the screen, and his eyes narrowed at the name of the caller.

Russ Brennan.

Until that moment his anger had been held in check by carefully conditioned control, eclipsed by worry. But here, with this phone call, he finally had a target for his rage.

"What the fuck do you want?" He drew stares from his waiting room companions, but he didn't care.

"Booth, it's been all over the television about the cult in West Virginia and the raid and the explosion. They're the ones, right? The ones who had Tempe? They're saying their were no survivors on the compound. Booth, does that mean Tempe too? Is my sister dead? Please, Booth, please tell me she's okay."

The man's pathetic pleas should have invoked sympathy. Booth felt only fury. "Well, what did you _think _the result would be, Russ? You and your father and your lies...where did you _think _they would lead?"

"Booth, _please._ I know, I know I screwed up, man, but please. Tell me my sister's not dead."

"Your sister's not dead. In spite of the best efforts of her fucked-up family."

"Where is she? Is she with you? Can I see her? Booth, I need to talk to her."

"I'm going to say this only once. I know you're not by nature a very intelligent man, so let me be clear. I brought you back into your sister's life. That was my mistake, and it's time to fix it. You will stay away from Bones. You won't call her, write her, text her, or try to send her smoke signals. Under no circumstances will you visit her. You don't get to play big brother when it suits you anymore, not after you almost got her killed."

"But-"

"No. No. I mean it, Russ. I will make your life hell if you even try. I'm going to hang up this phone now, and you are never going to contact me or Bones again. You have failed your sister for the last time."

It was times like these when he hated cell phones. Pushing the 'end' button wasn't very satisfying. He wished he was on his old phone at home so that he could slam down the receiver.

He stood abruptly, wondering where he might find something to slam, and instead found himself face to face with Bones' nurse. She had on a rain jacket and a backpack; it looked as if she was leaving for the day.

She glanced meaningfully at the phone in his hand. She must have heard the call. He glared at her, not in the mood for a lecture on hospital waiting room etiquette.

She surprised him, though. She cast him a thoughtful look, then finally spoke.

"They've got her settled upstairs- Room 331. She's sleeping, and even if she wasn't, she wouldn't be ready for questions."

There was another pause, and the nurse reached over to squeeze his elbow.

"You could maybe peek in on her though. I'm sure you'd like to confirm her identity for yourself. She may not be ready for questions, but...well, perhaps she wouldn't mind being watched over."

The nurse gave him a wink and pointed to the elevators. Booth pushed the appropriate buttons, grateful for an end to his searching. Ready, finally, to stand guard.


	28. Lies of Omission

**Author's Note: **I'm posting this a little later than usual, and in doing so am also breaking one of my rules for writing fanfiction: Always reply to reviews. It's the 2nd time this story I've failed to reply to a set of reviews, and I apologize. I had my thesis defense yesterday, so I've been preparing for that...and then this chapter required quite a bit of editing (Thanks Amilyn!). So I'm going to say something that I find both obnoxious & arrogant- I thought you'd prefer to have a chapter update over a review reply. I will do my best not to let it happen again. I really appreciate all of your feedback, and one of my favorite parts of fanfiction is getting to know all of the readers and carrying on mini-conversations through reviews and replies. Forgive me?

**Chapter 28: Lies of Omission.**

He didn't know how the nurse had been able to positively identify her. That's what he thought when he finally made it upstairs to see his sleeping partner. The woman lying in the hospital bed was a shadow of the woman in the photograph he kept. He'd never really thought about it before, but Bones was..._vibrant. _She...but the woman in the bed, she didn't shine. Her hair, her skin- it didn't look right. And she was so thin. Her face was sunken in, hollow. Lying there, so still, she could have been a corpse. His eyes were drawn to the machine beside her bed, monitoring her heartbeat. He watched the rhythm, seeking reassurance.

oOo

For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, Brennan awoke to sunlight streaming through a window. For an instant, she remembered her old life and wondered if her time in captivity had been a dream- a highly detailed product of her subconscious.

But then she became cognizant of the pain that seemed to radiate from every part of her body, and she once again struggled to accept her reality.

"Bones?"

She turned to the sound of a nickname, a signifier of affection.

Booth. By her bed. He didn't look the way he had in her hallucinations. He wasn't glaring, showed no signs of disappointment. He looked...weary. Weary, and maybe a little relieved.

His eyes were searching hers. He seemed desperate for something, but she didn't know how to respond. She wasn't sure what to do with him here. She had no idea how to speak for her own needs, much less someone else's.

But Booth had always been the intuitive one, and she watched as understanding dawned on his face. He smoothed her blanket and leaned back in his chair. He validated her silence, and again she felt the twinge of the familiar.

She was always more secure when she had his approval.

oOo

He watched her without looking at her. It made her nervous, being looked at. He understood, knew how it felt to be under scrutiny. That was fine. It was possible to see using more than just sight. Besides, he had always been so _aware_ of her. That, at least, hadn't changed.

So, when there was a knock at the door and she stiffened, he noticed. When her breath became shallow at the sight of the gray-haired doctor entering the room, he caught it. When the doctor introduced himself, explaining that he was taking over from the ER physician, Booth smiled politely...but he felt his partner's anxiety.

"Agent Booth, can I ask you to step outside for a moment so I can have a word with my patient?"

He wouldn't. Not without her permission. He risked looking at her, because her answer wasn't something he could sense. Her eyes wouldn't stay focused. The decision was obviously a difficult one.

He tried not to feel slighted when she gave her assent. She wanted to face the doctor alone. It was typical Bones, and it should have made him feel better.

It didn't.

Before he left, he continued their trademark silent communication. He told her with a look that he would be right outside; that he'd be back at the slightest sign of trouble.

But she had been out of practice when it came to communication in all of its forms. She had dismissed him, and he received no further acknowledgement. It frightened him.

oOo

She hadn't wanted Booth to leave...but she hadn't wanted him to stay either. She wanted him to be there, but without hearing or seeing, and she knew it made no sense. The contradictions exhausted her.

The doctor, so unfamiliar to her, seemed unaware of her internal struggle. The door closed behind Booth, and he immediately had his hands on her, checking her pulse, peeking under her bandages. She clenched her fists to keep from breaking his fingers.

He talked while he examined her, and her old self would have appreciated the matter-of-fact way he explained that they didn't test rape victims for STD's, just treated them with strong antibiotics anyway. He explained that it was especially moot in her case, as her bite wounds were infected and would have required the same antibiotics regardless. He was very direct, and she tried to remember to appreciate that.

He finished his examination, but continued discussing her treatment. He went on and on about working back up to solid food and about following-up in six months for another HIV test, just in case.

He said these things as if they were nothing, and _really_, it should have been her preference. It _would_ have been- once.

But now...it all felt like some sort of mark against her. She had always been safe, careful. But now...she couldn't even explain it. She felt dirty, and she hated being such a cliche.

"We're all done here. I'll send the agents in for a statement."

He had decided for her. She sort of regretted not breaking his fingers.

oOo

Hacker was with him when the doctor came out and announced that Bones was ready to speak with them. Booth was glad. He didn't want to question her at all, much less alone.

When they entered the room, he saw Hacker's jaw start to drop, his eyes begin to widen. Booth stepped in front of him, shielding Bones from his reaction. He forced his face into neutral, focused his gaze close to her...but not on her.

He spoke first, giving Hacker a chance to pull it together. "Heya, Bones. You ready to get this out of the way?"

"Yes." He could hear her trying to force normality into her tone.

He cleared his throat to begin, but found himself unable to force the questions from his lips. He swallowed, tried again, but still fell short. He started to panic. He had to make this okay for her. He had not been able to do a damn thing he'd set out to do so far. He had to make this okay.

"Temperance. You're certainly a sight for sore eyes."

Hacker. Thank God for Hacker.

"Did something happen to your eyes, Andrew?"

And Bones. He laughed. He had _missed_ her.

"It's an expression Bones. It means he's glad to see you." See? They could do this. They could be them again.

"Oh. It's nice to see you, too."

"Well, like Booth said, we should probably get this over with. I guess...maybe it would just be easiest if you told us what happened, then we could follow-up on anything that requires clarification."

oOo

She was glad it was Hacker doing most of the talking. It would have been impossible if it had just been Booth. With Hacker taking the lead, she could present a picture full of half-truths. She didn't have to be told her abductors were dead. She remembered the final words spoken to her in her cell, and she remembered the explosion. She knew, and she also knew that this report was just a formality- a bureaucratic necessity. There would be no need for details, and her medical records would be able to remain her own.

She focused on a spot on the wall. She would start at the beginning.

oOo

He never said a word. He listened as Bones described her journey from Virginia Beach to Pendleton County. He ground his teeth as she gave her best descriptions of the thirteen men she'd encountered during her captivity. He clenched his jaw as she described the room in which she'd been kept, the long breaks between food, the isolation.

He almost had to leave the room when she began to discuss her interrogation and her realization that this had all been connected to her father. He had to make this okay for her, and he didn't know which would be worse- leaving abruptly, or falling apart. In the end, he knew he owed it to her to do neither. He held it together, stayed put.

Hacker explained the White Heritage Republic and their connection to Max. Bones showed no reaction.

"Temperance, what happened when they realized you didn't know anything about Max?"

He watched her retreat then. It was painful, seeing someone close in on themselves like that, but this was Bones...he couldn't turn away.

"Nothing. They...they just went back to normal; ignoring me."

"I know this can be difficult to talk about, but did they ever beat you, attack you in any way?"

She paused as if to consider the question, and Booth held his breath. He knew there were bandages beneath her gown. He knew harm had been done. In the span of the seconds it took her to answer, his mind swam with images from his nightmares, all the things that might have been. He tried to take control, tried to imagine that he'd had the opportunity to take revenge, but then she was speaking, and he forced himself to concentrate on his partner's words.

oOo

"They struck me on several occasions- when I couldn't give them what they wanted." It wasn't a lie. She had never been a liar, and neither of the men in the room seemed eager to dispute her word.

Andrew wanted to know how she escaped and this, too, gave her pause. She escaped because of the man with the translucent eyes. He had saved her...but he also hurt her, and... No. She wouldn't talk about that.

"Someone brought food. When he left, he didn't close the door all the way. I got out. I found a window. I ran." It wasn't a lie.

"You were _so _lucky. Someone must have been looking out for you." Andrew went on to describe the failed raid and the explosion...how all her captors were dead...how close she was to dying with them. "It was a miracle."

"Yes," she agreed, trying not to give herself away.


	29. Ready or Not

**Chapter 29: Ready or Not.**

They spent another silent night together, she and Booth. After taking her statement, Hacker left to return to D.C.; he had already been gone longer than someone in his position should. Once again she found herself dealing with the contradiction of wanting Booth to both go with Hacker and stay with her, all at the same time. But although she might never be the same, Booth was still Booth.

And he wasn't going anywhere without her.

oOo

He spent another night watching her sleep. He was exhausted, but he'd close his eyes when he had her home. When she was back where she belonged, that's when he'd rest.

Again, she awoke with the sun. Again, he said a prayer of gratitude.

"Is your back hurting? From sleeping in the chair?"

Both her voice and her questions caught him unprepared.

"Because we're in a hospital. We could ask the doctor to give you something."

He wanted to shake her. She'd been held captive for one day shy of three weeks, and she was asking him about his back? About how _he _felt? It made him angry. At her. It was inexplicable and unwarranted and unforgivable... He looked at her then, made eye contact, and he saw it. That she was trying. Those questions, so normal, were tiny little steps on her way back.

He took them seriously.

"My back is fine, Bones. How about you? Starting to feel better?" It would be a long road back, so he'd need to meet her halfway.

She nodded, looked ready to give him a real answer, but there was a knock. She froze, but the doctor was back, and he was out.

He stood for a moment, staring at the door that closed behind him. He wanted to waltz right back in; he wanted to hear everything the doctor had to say. But he also didn't.

He chose not to dwell on his cowardice, choosing instead to call the Jeffersonian. It had been all Hacker could do to keep them from swarming the hospital, so he knew they'd be waiting at the airport.

He wanted them to be ready for what they would find.

oOo

Brennan once again found herself trying- and failing- to listen to the doctor. It didn't matter anyway; he had a huge stack of printed after-care instructions. She was sure the reading material would be more than sufficient.

"Temperance, I'm just going to have one last look at some of these wounds."

He put his hands on her once again, and she forced herself not to squirm. He wore latex gloves, and she appreciated not having to feel his skin on hers. He wore cologne. None of her abductors had. He wasn't like them. He wasn't one of them.

The doctor's examination was brief and professional, and she bit her lip the entire time. He asked her about pain, and she shook her head. He talked to her about properly cleaning the bites, and she tried accept that she was going home. He handed her a prescription for antibiotics, and she felt a small wave of relief; she'd set up automatic withdrawals to pay her bills while she was in Maluku. She'd never undone those arrangements. She'd still have an apartment. And electricity.

She'd still have a home.

"Is there anything else you need before we get these discharge papers processed?"

"I don't have anything to wear." It had just popped into her head- that she was leaving and that she had no clothes. How had that not occurred to her?

She hadn't actually meant to say it out loud, but the doctor didn't look surprised.

"Don't worry, Temperance. We aren't going to send you out in that hospital gown. Unfortunately," he said, rummaging around in a closet, "this is the best we've got."

She looked at the blue scrubs he was holding out to her. "No, these are perfectly acceptable. Thank you."

"Well, I'll let you get changed while I finish up the paperwork." He paused at the door. "Take care of yourself."

He left without waiting for a response, and Brennan stood carefully. She hadn't really moved around much on her own. Her movements were still stiff, her balance still shaky. It made her angry, thinking how long it would take her to get back into shape.

She slipped the scrubs on over her head. They were far too big, but the pants had a drawstring. They were better than nothing. She moved toward the mirror on the other side of the room, realizing that it hadn't occurred to her to examine her reflection.

The woman in the mirror was a stranger. Her hair was too long, her bangs had grown out, her face was too thin. Her eyes were too dull, too skittish. Her mouth was too drawn. She lifted her shirt. There were bruises that would fade. Scars that never would. The woman in the mirror wasn't real. She certainly didn't look real. She dropped her shirt back down. She had no bra or underwear.

It was happening again. She was losing control of her breath. She should be thankful for the scrubs. They should be enough. But she'd have to face Booth. She'd have to go to the airport, and everyone would stare. Everyone would see her, and they'd know. They'd know that this woman, the one looking back at her in the mirror, had been damaged beyond all repair.

She backed away, wishing she'd never seen. She sat on the bed, brought her knees to her chest. She knew she should just set her jaw, meet Booth's eyes and dare him to flinch. She knew how to turn her face into a suit of armor. That's what she would have to do when she left this room. But she wished she could disappear.

There was another knock, and what she wouldn't give to have something to throw. Something made of glass. Something that would shatter satisfactorily. She wanted everyone to stop knocking, especially since it meant that they were coming in whether she wanted them to or not.

She did what she had to do. She turned up her chin. She narrowed her eyes. She pursed her lips. She prepared herself to see her partner.

But it was Thisbe. From the ER.

"Hello, Temperance. Things have been so busy that I haven't had a chance to come up and check on you, but I heard you were leaving today. That's good news."

Brennan nodded, allowed her face to relax. No need to arm herself against this woman; she already knew all there was to know.

"Are you feeling better?" Thisbe rammed her face into the palm of her hand. "I know that's a stupid thing to ask. I'm sorry...I-"

"No, it's fine. And it's the customary thing for a nurse to ask a patient, right? I'm better. Much better. Thank you for asking."

Thisbe nodded, then held out something large and gray for Brennan to take. "It's a hoodie. I found it in Lost and Found. It's about four sizes too big for you, but I remembered that you didn't have any clothes, and I knew they would give you scrubs, but..."

Brennan's eyes filled with tears as she accepted the sweatshirt. It was huge. It was thick. It was perfect.

"I know it's August, but with your decreased body weight, you'll be cold. Especially in the airport. It's like they try to make you miserable in those places."

Brennan forced a laugh, swallowed back a sob. "Thank you, Thisbe."

The nurse smiled back, patted her shoulder. "Things will...it will get easier."

Brennan nodded; it was the customary thing to do.

"Okay, well I'm going to just grab a wheelchair. It's usually an orderly's job, but I'll take you downstairs- delay my return to the land of blood and guts."

Brennan's laugh was genuine this time. She wanted to just stay here, with the young nurse who already knew everything. But...

"All right, let's find that FBI agent of yours."


	30. Souvenirs

**Author's Note:** So for those of you who didn't see me rant about it on twitter, this update is a day late because the site wouldn't let me upload...but it did give me time to get some important beta help from the fabulous Amilyn. Oh, and for some reason, I can suddenly reply to reviews using only Private Messages. If you didn't get a review reply this time, it's because you have that feature disabled. As always, thanks for reading!

**Chapter 30: Souvenirs.**

They were in a cab, and this whole thing was almost over. They were in a cab, not an official Bureau vehicle. Because right now, he wasn't an FBI agent. Right now, he was just a man bringing his friend home.

He stole a quick glance at her- he was still being cautious of where he allowed his eyes to land. She was looking out the window, concentrating on the everyday life that was happening on the other side. Her concentration, coupled with the huge gray sweatshirt she was wearing, served to make her look like a little girl and to make his heart ache.

He found himself unsure of what to say to her, now that they were on their way to the airport. Now that they were on the road back home. When she was gone, when she wasn't right beside him, he'd imagined all the things that he'd say to her when he had her back. He'd tell her he missed her, and he wouldn't just be talking about her time in captivity. He'd tell her he was sorry- that he should have never let them take her, that he should have found her faster, that... All of those things had seemed so easy to say when she wasn't with him. Now, nothing felt right. He'd tried and failed a few times to make her laugh with stupid jokes and self-deprecating comments. The corners of her mouth had lifted slightly in the saddest imitation of a smile he'd ever seen. She was trying, and it gutted him.

But it was to be expected. She had been kidnapped. She had been held for nearly three weeks. She needed time to adjust. When she got back to her friends and her home and her job, she wouldn't have to try so hard. And they'd have time to talk then. There would be plenty of time, once the world had righted itself.

He smiled, refusing to acknowledge that his was also a sad imitation. Everything would be okay now. The worst was over.

oOo

She had pulled the neck of the hoodie up over her lower lip. She was biting the fabric. It was a strange thing to do, she knew that. Booth was being careful not to look at her, but that didn't mean he didn't notice. He'd wonder why she was chewing her clothing. He'd wonder what was wrong with her.

Keeping her face turned carefully toward the window, she let the shirt fall back into place and started discreetly chewing the inside of her lip instead. She was worried about something, she just wasn't sure what. She ran through her mind again, reassuring herself that she had indeed set up automatic withdrawals for her bills. Nothing to worry about there. When they'd first gotten into the cab, Booth had made some jokes about the lab. He wouldn't have done that if she didn't have a job to go back to. There was seeing everyone, dealing with her father...but it wasn't that either. She wasn't thinking about that now. It was something practical. She bit her lip harder.

They stopped at a light, and she saw a young woman walking a tiny little dog in a sweater. It was ridiculous, but she wasn't sure if it was because the dog was so tiny or because it was wearing a sweater in August. Absently, she traced her gums with her tongue. They were still tender, never having fully recovered from...

She froze, remembered the first time it happened, the plastic card shoved between her teeth to force her mouth open.

She gasped, and Booth turned to her then, no longer so careful with his eyes. He was asking what was wrong, and his voice sounded a little wild, but far away.

It had been so ordinary, that plastic card. That's what she had thought when it had happened. Just something that someone would have on them at any given time. Something that you'd never give a second thought- like a credit card, or an insurance card, or...

"I don't have my driver's license."

She watched as the mild panic on Booth's face turned to confusion. He didn't understand her. She feared it was something she'd have to re-learn, saying things in a way other people could understand.

"You said we were flying. We're going to the airport. I don't have a license. They won't let me on the plane without proper identification."

It took Booth a second to catch up, but when he did, he looked happy, like he was remembering something good.

"No need for a license, Bones. You've got an FBI agent." He waved his badge at her. "I'm all the ID you'll need."

She nodded in a way that she hoped seemed grateful, but she couldn't help feeling that he'd missed the point.

oOo

He started flashing his badge the moment they entered the airport, and he didn't stop until they were seated at the gate. They were able to breeze through the ticket line and were waved through security. He made it fast. But he couldn't make it painless.

Now, sitting at Gate A, he didn't have to work at not looking at Bones. There was no thought of trying to meet her eyes. His guilt took care of that. He kept his eyes on the floor as he mentally beat himself to a pulp. Why didn't he drive her home? He could have used a car from the local field office. He could have rented a car. What had he been thinking, saying they would fly?

That it would be faster. That's what he had been thinking. That it would be the quickest way to get her back where she belonged. He hadn't thought about the stares she would attract. He hadn't realized how that would hurt her.

They'd moved through the airport, and he'd watched as, at each stranger's passing glance, she'd tried to make herself smaller. He'd seen her shoulders slouch, her head droop. He'd watched her hands disappear inside her sleeves, her arms cross over her chest. Now, at the gate, she was curled in her seat, a perfect little ball.

His partner, whose presence had always been so large, was trying to disappear.

oOo

She rested her head on her knees and narrowed her world. People were going to look, they were going to see. But she wouldn't let herself feel.

In her line of vision was a man who wasn't noticing her. He was African American, tall, dressed in an expensive suit. He was on the phone, lost in his call, oblivious to everyone else...including the little girl by his side. She had on a ruffled skirt and a baseball cap, and she was his daughter- they had the same jawline.

He ended his call, put away his phone, and Brennan realized that he wasn't oblivious at all. Not to his little girl. Not anymore. He looked down at her, and the way his eyes lit up clearly communicated that the child was someone of value. Precious. She was pulling at his pant leg, pointing toward the bathroom, and he grabbed her hand. When the little girl and her father turned to walk away from the gate, Brennan noticed that sticking out of the back waistband of that man's expensive suit was a purple plastic wand, all sparkly and decorated with stars and feathers.

It took her breath away, because it seemed like proof of something. It made her eyes soften, her face begin to crumple a bit. But she felt Booth tense beside her. She knew he sensed, even if he didn't comprehend, her reaction.

And she still knew him. She knew that if she looked at him, she would see his concern for her written all over him.

She hardened her eyes. Put her face back together. She turned to him and smiled. An assurance that she was fine. A phrase Angela had used long ago floated across her thoughts- _fake it 'til you make it._ She made herself impenetrable.

Because there was nothing special about her or her situation. All of the places she'd been- Guatemala, Rwanda, Bosnia, the Congo- all the stories she'd heard. They all started just like hers. _And then the men came. _She was not the first woman to have been raped.

She nodded at Booth, hoping to add credibility to her smile.

She was not the first person to have been held, tortured.

Booth had been tortured. Booth, who never talked about his time in the Middle East. Booth, who had drawn a line. Booth, who would take any indication that she wasn't okay as an accusation. Booth, who would blame himself.

She held her smile until she got one in return. It would have been a burden too big to bear, being another item on her partner's list of self-decreed failures.


	31. One More Time, With Feeling

**Author's Note: **Two in a row, so we can get back on schedule here. :)

**Chapter 31: One More Time, With Feeling.**

He spent the flight fidgeting while she slept. He never took his eyes off of her; he figured it was safe to look at her as long as she was sleeping. He was watching for signs that something was going wrong in her dreams. He was prepared to stop a nightmare in its tracks.

Surely she would have nightmares, right? After what she went through? Of course she would have bad dreams. He peered down at her, trying to decide if her eye twitch was just an eye twitch, or if she were caught somewhere in a hell of her subconscious' making.

God knew he understood all the horrible places your mind could create when you were asleep and unguarded.

The twitching stopped, and he sat back up. Her face was calm. Maybe she wasn't having nightmares. Maybe she didn't need him to stand guard at all. Maybe she simply needed to sleep.

He balled his hands into a fist to keep himself from reaching out to stroke her cheek. It would be just like Bones to be fine after all of this- just like her to have already figured out how to box it up and put it away. From time to time she let him play hero- but she never let him follow it up by taking care of her.

Of course, he hadn't played the hero this time. Not at all. He...he had done nothing. _Nothing._ He hadn't gotten there in time. She was here, beside him, because someone had left a door open...because she'd just managed to get herself far enough away before everything went up in flames...because of luck. He needed it to be about more than luck.

His breath caught in panic, and the sound made her eyelids flutter like a butterfly's wings, until they finally settled on open. He turned his own eyes away, because it still seemed like the right thing to do...because he still needed time to pull himself together. He could feel her shifting beside him, trying to get her bearings.

"We're beginning our descent into D.C., Bones," he echoed the pilot's announcement from moments ago.

"Excellent." Her voice was strong, though he suspected she was steeling herself. He chanced a sideways glance, but he couldn't be sure whether her confident posture was Bones being Bones, or just another mask. Once again, he cursed them both for allowing themselves to drift so far away from each other. So far away that he just couldn't tell.

oOo

"BREN!"

She tried to catch up to this moment. She was still moving slowly, and, as a result, she and Booth had been the last passengers to make it out of the gate. It had been a quiet departure, everyone else at the airport seemed to take one look at her and decide to allow her a wide berth. It was as though she had been moving in a bubble.

Maybe Booth had had something to do with that.

But the bubble had burst as soon as she made it out of the terminal. She had barely stepped into the public waiting area when she was practically tackled by a brunette blur.

So she found herself wrapped tightly in the arms of her best friend, and there was bouncing, and there was crying, and Brennan was so grateful for Angela, because this was the kind of welcome that bought her time, that gave her a moment to muster the appropriate reaction. All she had to do was bounce with Angela. It was a different kind of bubble.

"...and you'll love Paris, Bren, just wait. When we get there, everything will be so perfect. You can have any kind of lab equipment you want, and Clark will even come along to assist..."

Brennan felt a shiver run through her. Angela was making as little sense as the Angela of her hallucinations, and although she knew this was really happening, she felt a stab of desperation at the idea that it might be a long time before she could fully trust her own reality.

"Paris? Angela, I don't know what you mean. I may have forgotten some things. Did we plan a trip?"

Angela pulled back to wipe at the tears flooding her face. She opened her mouth to explain, but Hodgins stepped up beside her, stroking her back, soothing her.

"There's no trip Dr. B." Angela sent him a piercing glare, and he backtracked a bit, "What I mean is, that's nothing for you to worry about now. Angie's just so glad to have you back. We all are."

Brennan couldn't bring herself to look directly at him, but she could hear the smile in his voice. While she was being held, she'd felt her friends fading away. She couldn't picture them clearly after even such a short while; it had been the same when her parents had disappeared. But here she was listening to Hodgins and hearing the smile in his voice. Because you could always hear whatever Hodgins was feeling in his voice. That was the truth, and it had come back to her so quickly, and it made it just a tiny bit easier to put the appropriate amount of joy on her face. It had been such a loss when her friends had started slipping away. But here they were, right in front of her, and all the things she had forgotten were coming back.

"I just...I don't know what to say. We've all been so scared, and we're just so happy to have you back safely. I know it must have been awful. Are you okay?" Now it was concern she heard in his voice, but she didn't have to worry about it long, because Angela burst into tears at that, and his eyes were drawn to his wife, and that was her chance.

"I'm fine Hodgins. A few minor abrasions and fatigue from dehydration and poor nutrition, but that is all to be expected. I'm fine." She used her best 'I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan' tone. She had never been one to spike her words with feelings. She _would_ be fine. It wasn't a lie.

And then Cam came out of nowhere with another hug and more tears, but at least she had the good grace to look embarrassed about it. Brennan laughed a little at that, and the laughter was real. Maybe she really was fine.

She glanced over Cam's shoulder to Sweets. He was shuffling from foot to foot, like a little boy. He smiled when he caught her looking at him, and she thought she might understand what people meant when they said their hearts warmed. She approached him with a hug. It was a preemptive strike, something she hoped would be in the back of his mind during the days to come. Because she knew there would be more talking to him. And she knew that once they got past this part, the part where they were just so happy because they'd thought they might not ever see one another again, he'd cease to be the baby duck, and he'd become the psychologist. He'd prod, and he'd scrape at all her wounds, and he'd be the one she'd have to watch out for. So she hugged him tight. Tighter, even, than she'd hugged Angela.

She stepped back, and everyone seemed a little like they were waiting on something. Was she supposed to give some sort of speech? Is that what people did?

Instinctively, she looked to Booth for the answer, and that was when she realized that she hadn't yet greeted everyone who'd come to the airport. Hannah was beside Booth, giving him a high-five, and she still looked just right. She caught Brennan's eye then and took a step forward as if to embrace her.

But Brennan had tired of hugs. They'd never come naturally for her in the first place. And while it wasn't Hannah's fault, seeing her...it made her feel... picked-over. Like something that had been cast aside.

"Thank you." She pushed those feelings down, and she directed her words at Hannah. "For everything. All of you. I know you must have worked so hard, and I can imagine how worried you were...just...thank you. I will never be able to repay you." Which was true, and it made her tired. She had never been comfortable with indebtedness.

Booth was starting to step toward her, probably wanting his own hug, especially since Sweets had gotten one, and Brennan knew with absolute certainty that she'd never survive his touch. Despite her nap on the plane, she was suddenly exhausted beyond all measure. The people, the gratitude, the noise, the remembering...it was all too much. She had to remain impenetrable, but she was so afraid she'd fail.

"Cam," her voice might have sounded sharper than she intended. "Would it be possible for you to give me a ride home?"

"Of course." Cam stammered a bit, and Brennan assumed that the request had surprised her. But she had thought ahead on this one, and she knew Cam was the safest option.

"I think it would be best if I could take the rest of the week off of work in order to regroup, but I'd like to talk to you a bit, just to get a summary of the state of the lab. I thought the ride home would be a good time to have a brief chat."

She caught the look on Sweets' face, and she could tell he was impressed with her reaction. She wasn't insisting on going straight to the lab as he had expected. She had acknowledged her need to regroup after her ordeal. She was doing this exactly right. A surge of something close to triumph raced through her.

oOo

So he watched her go. What more could he do? He wanted to follow her, but, hell, he needed a ride himself. He had wanted to be the one to take her home, even if that meant just taking another cab ride together. He wanted to get her back where she belonged, make sure she was going to be okay, and then talk about how he could help her move on. He had never intended to spend this night apart from her. He could tell from the shell-shocked expression on Angela's face that he hadn't been the only one, but he couldn't even commiserate, as Angela's body language practically screamed that she still hadn't forgiven him.

And then the weight of the past three weeks and his own inability to do _anything_ collapsed on him, and he wasn't sure he could remain upright. His knees buckled a little, and he knew he was seconds away from either vomiting or crying. He turned from the group that had already been abandoned by Bones and Cam, making his way quickly toward the restroom. Yep, he'd decided to go with the first option.

His stomach rolled over and over, and he realized that vomiting actually had its advantages. Tears went with the territory, like some sort of reflex. No one questioned you if you cried while throwing up. Soon there was nothing left, and a little while after that, he had strength enough to pull himself up and out of the stall.

Sweets was waiting for him by the sinks.

"Are you okay, man?"

Sometimes he really regretted the friendship he'd struck up with the kid when things with Bones had gotten weird. But only sometimes.

"I'm fine. It's been a long day."

"Yeah."

Booth cracked a smile, because it looked like Sweets might let this one go.

"Do you think she's okay?"

"She was kidnapped and held for three weeks. I'm gonna go with no."

"Of course, that's not what I meant. I just...she was acting...well, just like you would expect. In fact her coping responses seemed more normal than anything I've ever observed in Dr. Brennan. Do you think...do you think all that's real?"

"You're the expert, Sweets."

"Not on her. On her, you've always been the expert."

He wanted it to be true. He wanted to have all the answers. But he didn't, so he clapped Sweets on the back and left to see if Hannah would give him a ride.

He couldn't remember when he'd last been the expert on Bones.


	32. Remembering How

**Chapter 32: Remembering How.**

Cam had been the right choice. As they drove through the once familiar streets of D.C., they chatted easily about the Jeffersonian- upcoming projects, new technology, the progress of the interns. Cam followed her lead, matched her tone. They were colleagues, peers. Sure, there was the occasional poignant silence or weighted look. There was an "Are you okay, Dr. Brennan?" that tipped slightly to the side of too sincere, but Cam was willing to accept her deflections. No, Cam didn't push.

As they were pulling into Brennan's building, one of their more comfortable silences was interrupted by the soft chimes of a cell phone. Cam peered into her purse, a little startled, then pulled out the cell and handed it to Brennan.

"This is actually your phone."

"My phone?" Her phone had been stolen, smashed.

"Yes, when... When we got back from Virginia Beach, the Jeffersonian replaced our phones. I've been holding onto yours. The number's the same."

Right. Cam's phone had been destroyed too. Cam had been tied up too. How could she have forgotten that? "Are you okay, Dr. Saroyan? After everything that happened in Virginia Beach?"

The question earned her a look she couldn't quite decipher. "I'm fine Dr. Brennan."

"I am glad to hear that."

Again, the strange look.

The phone started ringing again, and both women jumped- they hadn't realized that it had stopped in the first place.

"You're probably going to want to just give in and answer that. Looks like it's Angela. She's not likely to give up."

It took Brennan a beat too long to remember how to answer the phone. She shot Cam a sheepish smile as she finally found the correct button.

"Hello?" That was the wrong thing to say. _'Brennan.' _That was how she had always answered the phone. Before. She would do it correctly next time.

"Bren? It's me- Angela. Hey, are you home yet?"

"We're in the parking lot."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I was thinking, what if I came over tonight? You shouldn't have to spend your first night back alone. I could come over, and we could talk...or watch a movie or something. It could be fun. Like a slumber party."

"No, Angela, that will not be necessary. I spend my nights alone. I like it that way." There was a pause, and Brennan cringed. That wasn't what she was supposed to say. "But I understand that you were assuming that I would be uncomfortable given my recent circumstances and were offering to spend the night with me out of friendship. It is unnecessary, but I appreciate it. I really do."

And that must have been the right thing, because Angela laughed a little on the other end of the line. "Okay, Sweetie. You're Miss Independent. I get it. But you'll call me if you need me, right?"

"Right."

"It doesn't matter what time, okay? I can come over."

"I understand."

"Oh, hey, I cooked for you."

"But you don't cook."

Another little laugh. "I do so! I don't _like_ to cook, but I do it...sometimes. And I cooked for you. It's just pasta, but it's in your fridge. I hope you don't mind, but I kind of took advantage of the emergency key you gave me and freshened the place up a bit."

"I don't mind at all." She swallowed. "That was really kind of you, Ange."

"It's what friends do."

"Okay."

"Okay. I'm going to let you go, but I mean it- call if you need me."

"Bye, Ange."

"Bye, Bren. Welcome home."

Cam gave her a crooked smile as she hung up the phone. They walked together toward the building. The lobby felt surreal, like something out of a Dali painting.

It would feel ordinary soon enough- that's what she told herself as she lifted her chin a little higher and headed toward the elevator. As the doors slid closed, she had another moment of disorientation like she had when faced with the ringing cell phone- she had no idea what button to push. Luckily, her body seemed to remember what her mind had allowed to fade away, and her hand went automatically to a button in the middle of the row.

It gave her confidence. She could do this.

They walked toward her door, and Cam withdrew a key ring from her bag. "Angela had your keys, but she gave them to me before we left the airport. When...when they took you, they only smashed the cell phones. They left your bag and everything in the car. It's all waiting for you in the apartment."

Brennan nodded, grateful. The practicalities of being abducted and returned had the potential to be quite overwhelming.

She turned the key in the lock. Her door swung open, and she gasped. She realized that somewhere along the way she'd stopped believing that she would ever be back here, and she hadn't really started again until this moment.

She turned on the light. Her apartment. It looked so foreign and still so familiar. Like a Dali painting. Like a dream.

"I could stay."

She jumped. She had forgotten about Cam.

"I could stay, Dr. Brennan."

She put a smile on her face before she turned around. "It's okay, Cam. I prefer to be alone. I'll be fine."

"Well...you know where to find me."

"I do."

"Okay. Well, then, I guess...I guess I'll go. Let you get settled." She looked like someone who was waiting to be stopped.

"Okay. Thank you for the ride...and for everything."

Her friend hesitated for a moment, stepped forward to grab her in a quick embrace. "I'm so glad you're back, and I'm so glad you're okay. I've missed you."

Brennan could hear the tears, and this time, Cam didn't seem embarrassed at all. "I missed you too." That felt like the appropriate response. Besides, it was the truth.

"Okay." Cam swiped at her eyes. "I'm going to go now."

"Bye, Cam."

"My number is in your new phone."

Brennan nodded. "I'll call it if I need you."

"Good. Okay. Bye."

Brennan tried to make her smile kind, because the other woman truly seemed to be having a difficult time saying goodbye. After a few false starts, Cam finally walked out of the door, and Brennan closed it behind her. As she leaned against it, her eyes fell on the deadbolt and the chain. She had rarely used them. Before. And it seemed a little silly now. She bit her lip briefly before decisively sliding both the bolt and chain into place and pushing herself away from the door.

She stood in the middle of her living room. Her living room. In her home. There was so much space. What had she done with so much space?

Her eyes were drawn to the coffee table, where a vase of fresh flowers stood. Lilacs. Angela had to have left them. Angela loved lilacs.

She checked to see if they needed water, but they didn't. Nothing in the room seemed out of place, and she found herself wishing for something to straighten up. She was in her own home, but she was at loss as to what to do.

Angela had left flowers. And food. She walked toward her kitchen, flipping on the light. This time she remembered to anticipate the disorientation, so it didn't hit her as hard. She opened the door to her refrigerator. Someone had cleaned it out. She assumed it was Angela, and she knew she'd have to find a way to repay her best friend. Of all the household chores, Angela hated cleaning out the refrigerator the most. She'd heard her arguing about it once when she had lived with...the woman, the one after Hodgins. She couldn't remember her name.

She pulled out a bowl of pasta and put it in the microwave. Suddenly she was starving and sure that she had never smelled anything as delicious as Angela's spaghetti.

The first bite was perfect- it tasted like home and everything she had been parted from for far too long. But somewhere around the fourth bite, something changed. It felt heavy in her mouth, like something that didn't belong. Food came at a price.

"_I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."_

"_I'm not like the others."_

She could hear the footsteps, the slight drag of the left foot.

She just made it to the sink as all four bites of spaghetti came right back up. She burst into tears. Angela had just cleaned that sink.

She threw the entire bowl of pasta into the trash can under the cabinet. Someone had taken out her garbage, replaced the bag.

She didn't linger long in the kitchen. She wandered through every room in her apartment, jaw clenched, switching on every light switch she encountered. She entered each room as one would enter a confrontation- glaring, ready to strike first.

Finally, her home was bright. It was dark outside, but not where she was.

If she couldn't eat, she could sleep. She tore off the clothes that had been given to her in the hospital, dumped them in the trash along with Angela's spaghetti. She could shower first, it was tempting, but then she'd have to think about her body and all of it's marks, and she had done enough thinking for one day.

In her bedroom, she pulled a t-shirt and shorts out of her pajama drawer and was hit by the smell of lavender. It was another thing she had forgotten- how all of her clothes always smelled like lavender. The scent almost caused more tears, but she fought them back and crawled into bed. Her bed, with her soft, expensive sheets. She had five pillows on her bed. Why had she ever thought she had needed five pillows? Still, she tried to focus on how soft they were and the smoothness of her sheets and the way the whole room smelled like lavender, like her clothes, like her. Like the way she used to smell.

But it was so quiet. There was no beeping from monitors, like in the hospital. There must have been sounds from the streets, but her apartment was expensive, and expensive apartments put mechanisms in place so that their residents didn't have to hear street sounds- they'd paid to have all of that muffled. They'd paid for a good night's sleep. She'd always loved that, before.

Now, though, she wished she'd paid less and kept some of the noise. Without it, there was nowhere for her mind to focus but on memories. Without other sounds, her thoughts would recreate the voices of the men who had, for three weeks, comprised her world.

It was normal. It would go away. Eventually, it would; of course it would.

She kicked off the covers, grabbed her pillow and jumped out of bed. Because eventually it would go away. But not tonight.

She made her way back to the living room. She had a very expensive couch. As soft as a bed. More comfortable than a hospital bed. She threw one of her five pillows onto it and curled up under a throw.

She had a television. Years ago, she had bought it for Booth. Not that she'd ever told him that. But she had, she'd bought it for him. One more good thing she owed to her partner's presence in her life. She turned it on and was surrounded by noise- by something else to focus on. She flipped through the channels until she found a man making ridiculously extravagant cakes. She turned up the volume and closed her eyes.

There. She had done it. She'd found a way to make it through the night.


	33. Between Knowing & Saying

**Chapter 33: Between Knowing and Saying.**

"Temperance looked...I mean, you know, she could have looked worse."

He pulled at the seatbelt that felt far too tight across his chest. "Yeah. I guess she could have looked worse. Hey, she could have been dead, so..."

"Don't do that, Booth. Don't do that thing where you twist my words and get all sarcastic and mean. I was just trying to talk to you."

He sighed and rubbed his temples. He could feel his girlfriend watching him out of the corner of her eye. He could push it a little farther, and this little ride home from the airport could devolve into a full-blown argument. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to pick a fight...but not with Hannah. Not tonight. "I'm sorry. I'm just really tired. You're right, Bones looked okay. She's going to be okay." He reached out to squeeze her hand on the wheel. "I can't thank you enough for all you did."

"I would have done anything to help you find her."

"I know."

"And now she's home."

"I know."

"And that's a very good thing."

"Yes it is."

"You did a good thing."

"I didn't do anything." His voice was all rough edges.

"Booth-"

"Hannah," he tried to speak softly, "let's just leave everything tonight. I'll be more fun to talk to after I've slept. Another day, okay?"

"Okay. Sleep now. Conversation later. Works for me."

oOo

Hours later, Booth was slipping out of bed as quietly as he could, hoping to avoid disturbing the woman sleeping soundly on the other side. He made it to the kitchen and began digging around in the cabinets for his emergency bottle of scotch. Sleep wasn't coming as easily as he'd hoped. He'd close his eyes, and his mind would automatically drift to what would have happened if his partner had still been in that building during the explosion. He could see it all- finding what was left of her body, informing their friends, coming home alone, attending her funeral. He could feel it as acutely as if it had really happened. When he opened his eyes, his attention would turn to Max and all the things he was dying to say to him.

He couldn't control his thoughts. Might as well drown them.

He poured himself a double and took a seat on the couch. His hand hovered above his phone- the one that had been a gift from her. No, wait, it had been a gift from Hannah...but really from Bones.

He could call her, just to check-in. But it was late, and she had been exhausted, and it didn't feel right.

He wanted to be with her.

He threw back the scotch.

She hadn't wanted to be with him.

oOo

He never went back to the bed. He'd only had the one drink, but he stayed on the couch. The sleep he so desperately needed never came. Oblivion was choosing to stay just beyond his reach.

Light was peeking through the cracks in his shades, and he could hear Hannah taking a shower and going through her morning routine. He had been ordered not to report to work for the rest of the week.

Mandatory leave. What the fuck was he supposed to do until Monday?

He heard a door in the back of the apartment creak open, and he knew Hannah would soon be coming through the living room on her way to the White House. He closed his eyes and steadied his breath- stayed that way until she left.

One more thing he didn't really want to analyze.

He sat back up and stared once again at the phone. He glanced at the time and smiled. He knew exactly who he needed to call. He dialed the number and felt everything that threatened to crush him crumble.

"Dad!"

"Hey, buddy."

"I wanted to call you this morning, but mom said no, because you were out late playing hero, and you were probably still asleep." Booth could hear him muffle the receiver. "See, Mom! He's awake. I told you so!"

"I missed you, Parks."

"I missed you too, but mom says you got Dr. Brennan back from the bad guys. Is that true? Is she okay?"

"She's home, and she's going to be okay."

"You sound sad."

"What are you talking about? I'm talking to my favorite person in the world. How could I be sad?"

"I'm nine-years-old now, Dad. That baby stuff doesn't work on me anymore."

"Well, excuse me Mr. Full Grown Man."

"Hey, why are you calling me from the home phone? Why aren't you at work?"

"They want me to stay home this week and rest."

"Aw, man, I wish I didn't have a spelling test, then I could get mom to let me stay home from school and rest with you."

"School just started last week- you already have a spelling test?"

"It's fourth grade. It's not like third grade. We're not playing around anymore."

God, it felt good to laugh. "No, of course not. Fourth grade is serious business. Hey, go eat breakfast before I make you late. I'll call you tonight to hear how you did on that test."

"Okay, Dad. You know what you should do when you're done resting? You should go to the zoo."

"Is that right?"

"Yep. They have the penguins that go down the slide, and they have the orangutans that ride the zip-line. That would cheer you up."

"Huh. That's not a bad idea."

"See, Dad? Fourth grade. I'm full of good ideas now."

"Okay, Parks. Take your good ideas to school. Love you."

"Love you too."

Booth hung up the phone, basking in all the good a short chat with his son had done for his mood.

oOo

He almost knocked, but then he remembered the way she tensed each time someone knocked on her door in the hospital. He didn't know why it bothered her, but he knew it did. He pulled out his cell and dialed her number.

"Brennan."

And just like that, everything was normal. His partner sounded just like she always had.

"Bones, it's me. I'm outside your door."

The call was ended abruptly, and Booth was left staring at his phone, wondering if he should take that to mean she wanted him to go. Before he could reason it out, he heard the sound of locks turning, and the door was answered by his partner dressed in a fluffy bathrobe and a towel around her hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you knocking. I was in the shower. Have you been standing out here for long?"

"Oh, no. I just got here. I didn't knock."

"Why wouldn't you knock?"

"I..." Now he felt silly. "I don't know. I just wanted to call instead."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she opened the door wide to let him in.

He hadn't been in her apartment since the night he'd picked her up to go to Virginia Beach. He'd been irritated with her that night. He hadn't wanted to be trapped in a car with her.

"Why are you here, Booth?"

Same old Bones.

"What, no 'Good to see you Booth'?"

"I'm sorry." She looked really unsure, and he felt bad for teasing her. Maybe she wasn't the same old Bones. "I just didn't realize we had plans."

"We didn't, but you're off, and I'm off, so I just thought maybe we could be off together."

She started shaking her head slowly. "I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter."

"No one said a thing about babysitting. I just wanted to go watch the orangutans at the zoo, and that's the kind of activity that requires company. I was hoping you would be my company."

"I'm fine, Booth."

"Well, I'm not, Bones." She flinched. "I'm not fine, and I need to know you're still here. Just come watch the orangutans with me- you can note their social hierarchies or something. Please."

It was the _please_ that did it. Her faced softened, and she nodded.

"Give me a minute to change."

He took a seat in one of her chairs, and took notice of the pillow and blanket in the living room. Looked like he wasn't the only one who spent the night on the sofa. He heard things being slammed around in her bedroom.

It didn't sound right.

"Bones? Everything okay back there?"

"It's fine."

She didn't sound right.

He was about to ignore every instinct he had and charge into her bedroom, when she finally came out.

She didn't look right.

First of all, he never seen her dressed so casually when she wasn't exercising- yoga pants and a t-shirt. Second of all, in her own clothes he could finally see how truly thin she had become. It was scary. Finally, her face was slightly red and puffy. She had been crying.

"Well," she said defiantly, before he could even ask, "are we going to the zoo, or not?"

Whatever battle she was fighting in that moment, she was determined to fight alone.

He held open her door. "After you."

oOo

The pandas were cute, and the penguins were funny, and the orangutans were fascinating. But Bones wasn't seeing them. He couldn't even hold her attention with a game of "Spot the Alpha Male." She wasn't watching the animals; she was too absorbed in the families.

He had wanted to take her somewhere that would make her smile. He didn't know what she was seeing in all those mothers and fathers and children, but whatever it was, it definitely didn't make her smile. Whatever it was, he was sure it had to do with Max.

Just five minutes. He'd only need five minutes alone with the man.

"That one is definitely the alpha male. Look, Bones, see that."

She tore her gaze away from a Middle Eastern father carrying his little girl on his shoulders. "No. You're wrong."

"What? Come on, did you see the way he pushed the others off of that rock so he could lay there. Definitely alpha male tendencies."

"Except it's a female."

"Oh."

"Your lack of basic anatomical understanding continues to amaze me."

"It's an orangutan, Bones. Who has a strong understanding of orangutan anatomy?"

"Me."

"Well, you don't count."

"I do so count."

And suddenly everything felt serious. "Yeah, I know you do."

Her attention began to drift again, and all he wanted in the world was to hold it. "You sure you'll be ready to come back to work on Monday?"

"Of course."

"We'll probably have to start seeing Sweets again- have him sign off on our partnership. Like old times."

"I assumed that would be the case. If we want to maintain our partnership."

"Which we do. Right, Bones?"

She stared at him for a moment before turning back to the animals. "That one." She pointed to an orangutan pacing in the background. "He's the alpha male."


	34. Tightrope

**Chapter 34: Tightrope.**

Today it was falling off the sofa. It was her third morning at home, and so far she'd failed to wake up without some sort of dramatic event. She examined her arm and determined that there would be no lasting damage. It was far less upsetting than waking up the day before in a pool of her own urine- although, at least that had given her something to clean, a way to spend her morning.

She untangled herself from the throw she used as a blanket and stood, trying to shake off the frustration of her new and unpredictable morning routine. Falling asleep wasn't a problem; as long as she kept the lights and television on, she drifted off easily. She slept soundly, dreamlessly. It was the waking that was the trouble- she couldn't control her behavior in those moments before she gained consciousness, and it made her furious. She spent her days dreading the next time she would have to awake.

She began folding her blanket, trying to push all of that out of her mind. She could not afford to lose focus now. She would be returning to work in two days, and she had quite a bit of preparation to complete. She grabbed a stack of anthropology and forensic journals, picking up her reading and note taking where she had left off yesterday. She had fallen behind on all the progress in her field while she was in Maluku; being kidnapped had put her even further behind. She needed to get back on top of everything.

She didn't bother to shower or change clothes. She lost herself for hours in the description of an experimental technique for cranial reconstruction; she could already spot several potential problems with the proposed procedure. She made a note to contact the author. Her stomach cramped painfully; her body wanted food. She ignored the sensation and returned to her journals.

After a few attempts to begin an article on modern mummification practices, she had to concede defeat. The words blurred and swam in front of her. She slammed down the journal. She'd have to try to eat.

Her heart was pounding when she reached the kitchen. It was ridiculous. She opened her pantry, stared at its contents, tried to picture herself preparing any of it. She turned away and opened the drawer that contained her takeout menus. She loved Ethiopian food- she could call in an order from the place in Adams Morgan. She imagined herself tearing off bits of injera, using it to scoop up the spicy lentils and cabbage that had always been her favorites.

Just the thought had her running to the bathroom, dry-heaving.

Afterward, she splashed cold water on her face, washing away angry tears. She could not continue like this. She could not allow the memory of the man with the translucent eyes to keep her from eating. She had done what she had done, and she couldn't change it, and she had to stop obsessing over it.

She was not someone who obsessed.

She stalked back into the kitchen and grabbed a jar of peanut butter from the pantry. She yanked open one of her drawers and grabbed a spoon. She had never eaten peanut butter straight from the jar. She had always wanted to, but her mother had never allowed it. She scooped out a spoon full of peanut butter and began licking it slowly. Peanut butter was a perfectly acceptable form of protein.

She couldn't finish it. She couldn't even finish a tablespoon of peanut butter. She had never been so disappointed in herself.

Finally, she gave up and prepared a smoothie. Liquid didn't feel so bad. You couldn't survive without liquid. You could go for quite a while without food. She should have gone for longer without food. She should have gone longer.

She sat back down to her work and sent pre-emptive "I'm fine. See you on Monday." texts to Cam and Angela. Both women seemed to have a compulsive need to call on a daily basis. Angela was becoming more and more insistent on coming over. Brennan truly appreciated their concern, but she had too much work to do to entertain visitors.

That is what she kept telling Booth. He had not come back since their trip to the zoo, but he called three times each day. She didn't dare ignore those calls. A part of her expected him to push a bit more, to show up without calling like he had the first day. But he didn't. It was good that he was so willing to respect her boundaries. She told herself it was good.

Besides, if he came, he'd want to eat. Booth always wanted to get food, even though, at his age, he should really be more careful about the amount of saturated fat and sodium he consumed. She had tried to warn him repeatedly. He never listened.

No, if he came, he'd insist they eat. Then, he would insist on knowing why she did not care to eat. Or, he might want to try to talk about Sweets and their partnership again. It was better that she just focus on her work- her real work, not FBI work. Nothing good could come from spending time with Booth right now.

She reopened the journal to the article she had tried to read earlier. She forced herself to concentrate. She filled her mind with facts and history and the complexities of mummification. She could not leave room for anything else.

By the time she was ready to close the journal, it was dark. She smiled- she had occupied her entire day. She had been productive. It would now be perfectly acceptable to turn on her television and go to sleep. She was almost giddy with the feeling of success.

After she brushed her teeth and grabbed her pillow off the bed, she checked her cell phone. She had eight messages. She knew who they were from. She had picked up the phone for Angela, Cam and Booth, but there was one caller she was not yet ready to deal with. She pushed the button to play the messages.

"Tempe, it's me. We need to talk. You have every right to be angry with me, but-"

Delete.

"It's me. Again. You can't shut me out right now-"

Delete.

"Just let me know you're okay-"

Delete.

"Emma and Hayley are asking about you- they've been really worried."

Emotional blackmail. Delete.

"Please. Please pick up the phone. Please just call-"

Delete.

"Tempe, we're family. I'm your big brother, and I'm worried about you."

That one earned an eye roll. Delete.

"Marco."

That one tugged at her. But still. Delete.

"Tempe, if I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I'm getting in the car. I'm not going to let you-"

It was a lie. He wouldn't come. Delete.

She turned the phone to silent and curled back up on the sofa. She closed her eyes. She could still hear Russ. _Marco. _It wasn't that she was angry with him. She just wasn't ready for him yet. She would call him when she was stronger, when she was eating better. She would call him when she could say she was okay and could be sure he would believe it. Waiting, just a little while, was the best thing to do.

Unless it wasn't. Unless it was the wrong thing, the thing that would make everything worse. Her hand hovered over the the phone, her heart racing as an internal debate began.

It wasn't life or death, her decision to return a call. But it felt like it. To call Russ, or to wait. To eat, or not. To take the elevator, or the stairs. Every decision felt like life or death. Every decision felt like a mistake.

She withdrew her hand from the phone and covered her head with the blanket, hoping to escape to sleep. Hoping to free herself from choices.


	35. Conversations With Ghosts

**Author's Note: **To all of those who will be raptured at 6 PM EST today, I'm sure not knowing how this story ends will be among your greatest regrets. I hope that your frolics along the streets of gold will ease the pain. For all of you heathens left behind, I will be here too, so don't worry- once I've finished my looting, I'll be back to finish this story as regularly scheduled.

**Chapter 35: Conversations with Ghosts.**

"It's good to have you home, Dr. Brennan."

"Micah!"

"The place hasn't been the same without you. I've had no one to talk to but the ghosts."

"Surely a man as intelligent as yourself doesn't believe in-," A smile spread across her face. "You were joking with me."

"You got me, Dr. Brennan."

"But what are you doing here? Your shift should have ended several hours ago."

"It's a big day. I wanted to be the first to officially welcome you back to the Jeffersonian."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Micah. I guess that means you won't have to talk to ghosts anymore."

Micah laughed. "Nope. Now I have you back. I like the new look, by the way. It suits you. Makes you look more relaxed."

She glanced down at her clothes and pursed her lips. Yoga pants again. Hardly appropriate for work, but they had a drawstring and nothing else she owned would fit her. She'd tried on every piece of clothing in her closet. They'd all fallen off of her, and now they were in a huge pile in her bedroom. She hadn't had the energy to put them back where they belonged. She'd done her best to put together an outfit that no one would notice. Another failure. "I should really get to the lab."

"Would you like an escort to your office?"

"That is unnecessary. I remember the way."

"Alright, well, take care, Dr. Brennan. I'll see you around."

"I would like that."

oOo

She swiped her keycard and the lab doors opened with the achingly familiar _whoosh_. Just as she had hoped, she was the first one in. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to savor the feeling of truly being back where she belonged.

Everything looked and smelled just the way she remembered it. She crossed the lab to her office and switched on the lights. It was exactly the same. The file she had been reviewing before Angela had convinced her to take a trip to Teatime was still open on her desk. It looked like no one had even set foot in the room since she'd been gone. She waffled between being comforted by the sensation that nothing had changed and being disturbed by the fact that everything was the same.

She ran her eyes over the old file, trying and failing to remember why she had been studying it all those weeks ago. She had just given up when she began to hear the sounds of her colleagues filtering into the lab. Without even realizing it, she braced herself.

She heard whispers outside her door, and eventually there was a soft knock. She quickly pulled up an email, did her best to look absorbed in her computer screen.

"Come in." She didn't look up.

"Welcome back, Dr. Brennan."

She raised her eyes over the monitor. "Thank you, Dr. Saroyan. Would you have some time today to discuss the projects we talked about on Wednesday?"

And the absolute best thing about Cam was how easily she was willing to adapt to Brennan's brisk professionalism. "Of course. Just come find me once you're settled." She couldn't resist shooting Brennan a quick smile as she left the room.

"Dr. Hodgins, Mr. Fisher, is there anything I can do for either of you?"

"Just wanted to say welcome home, Dr. B."

"Yes, Hodgins. Cam addressed that. Thank you."

Hodgins laughed a little. "Well, okay." He turned for the door. "You know where I am if you need me."

"I'm sure I won't."

"I've really missed you, Dr. B."

He was gone before she could thank him.

"And you, Mr. Fisher? Are you also wanting to welcome me back, or did you have a question of substance?"

"No to both. I just wanted to congratulate you on delaying your inevitable death."

"Thank you, Mr. Fisher."

"I've thought about it, and of all the ways you could possibly die, long-term incarceration ending with an explosion really isn't one of the best. I'm glad that isn't how it happened for you. You deserve better."

"Actually, an explosion would have been very quick and most likely painless. I could have done much worse."

"True. I mean, it's probably better than a protracted illness, or something that takes a while, like drowning, but I still think a good old fashioned car accident-"

"Okay. You," Angela walked in for the last part of the conversation and pointed at Fisher, "Out. Now." She held open the door for him to leave. "And ask your doctor about upping your dosage." She rolled her eyes and let the door slam behind him. She turned to Brennan with a huge smile plastered on her face and her arms held wide. "Sweetie!"

Brennan tried to hold firm at her computer, but she'd always found Angela's joy nearly impossible to resist. She walked around her desk and into her friend's arms.

"You're back!"

"I am. I told you I was returning today."

"Bren-"

Brennan gasped as her friend pulled away, and she really looked at her for the first time since she'd returned to D.C. She'd been so focused on herself at the airport; she hadn't really seen Angela.

"Ange...the baby!" She knew her voice sounded watery, but she couldn't help it.

"Oh! Oh, you haven't seen!" Angela turned to the side and placed her hand under her stomach, modeling her tiny baby bump.

"Look at you. Angela- I am so happy for you."

"Thanks, hon. So. How does it feel to be back to work?"

"It feels the same as it always does."

"You should know that no one would think less of you if you needed to take a little more time off."

"Why would I need time off? I'm not ill." She returned to her computer. "I have quite a bit to catch up on."

"Okay. How was the weekend?"

"Very productive."

"That's good, but, Sweetie, what about-?"

"Angela, I don't mean to be rude, but I really do need to get to work."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'll...I'll just go."

She had made Angela feel bad. Everything she did felt like a mistake. "Thank you for stopping in, though. Maybe we could talk again later. You could tell me where you are in your preparations for the baby."

"Okay, Bren. Come find me when you're ready for a break." Angela's forehead was scrunched, her voice soft. Brennan couldn't decipher it, couldn't tell how she should use it to inform her next move.

oOo

She was left in relative peace for the remainder of the morning. Just before noon, she received a call from Caroline Julian's secretary requesting her immediate presence at the Hoover. Brennan was frustrated at having her work interrupted and annoyed at being summoned, but she didn't argue.

She attracted more than a few stares and whispers making her way through the Hoover. That wasn't so out of the ordinary, actually, but before the whispers had all been speculation regarding her relationship with Booth. Now, she suspected they had more to do with her yoga pants and the bruises that hadn't quite faded.

A few agents whose faces were familiar, but whose names she had never bothered to learn, welcomed her home. She smiled and thanked them, because that seemed to be the appropriate response.

"Dr. Brennan!"

She turned to face a male agent whose face she was sure she had never seen.

"Are you here to see Agent Booth?"

"No." She tried to take a subtle step backward. This man was a stranger. "I'm here to meet with Ms. Julian."

"Oh, I just thought...I mean, he was so crazed while you were gone. I'm just surprised he let you out of his sight."

"That would be...highly impractical. Not to mention beyond his control."

"Of course, I didn't mean-"

"Do I know you?"

"Oh, Dr. Brennan. I apologize. No, we've never met." The man held out his hand, and she shook it warily. "I'm Special Agent Hawez with Hate Crimes. I was working the WHR case. Nasty sons of bitches."

"Yes. They were."

The agent suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

"It was nice to meet you, Agent, but I should really get to my meeting. Thank you for your hard work."

"I'm just glad it ended well."

The man seemed like he might be on the verge of trying to continue the conversation, so Brennan turned quickly on her heel and made her way to the elevators.

oOo

Caroline was standing at the door waiting for her when Brennan reached the office.

"Oh _cherie, _it is so good to see you all alive and well."

"Thank you."

"And how are you doing since the great escape? You sleeping all right?"

"I am getting the recommended amount of sleep for adults of my age."

"That's fantastic. Now, come in, sit down." Caroline closed the door behind her and took a seat behind her desk. She grabbed a glass bowl sitting on the credenza and offered it to Brennan. "Candy?"

"No, thank you."

"Hmph. Well, excuse me if I have yours, then." Caroline popped the candy into her mouth. "Although, from the looks of you, you could do with eating the whole bowl."

"I'm quite busy, Ms. Julian. What did you need to speak with me about that couldn't be handled over the phone or email?"

"Well, it's good to know your ordeal didn't turn you all meek. Fine. Down to business. Dr. Brennan, do you know the name Marshal Coker?"

She did. She steadied her breath. "Booth and Andrew mentioned him to me while I was in the hospital."

"Then you know that he was the leader of the White Heritage Republic- the group responsible for your abduction."

"Yes."

"And you know that your father is currently in protective custody, preparing to testify at his trial."

"Ms. Julian, I don't see how any of this pertains to me. I don't have time for superfluous conversation." The room seemed to tilt slightly off-center. She tried to focus.

"_Cherie. _Marshal Coker's trial is set to begin in two weeks, and we're hoping to add a charge of witness tampering. Your testimony would be key in convicting on that particular count."

"Isn't Marshal Coker being tried for murder, domestic terrorism, weapons possession and a whole host of other crimes?"

"Yes."

"Is your case against him strong?" She could hear herself getting too loud; she needed to regulate her tone.

"Yes. I would say a conviction is likely."

"Then why would you want to bother adding another charge? You said he's likely to be convicted, which means he'll already spend the rest of his life in prison. It does not seem that adding another, relatively insubstantial, charge at the last minute is the rational thing to do."

"Sometimes you need to do the irrational thing." Caroline's look was knowing. Too knowing.

"I'm not following you."

"Dr. Brennan, the men who took you, who held you underground for weeks, who from what I can see starved you near to death, are dead. They blew themselves up and took the coward's way out. There will be no trial for them. You will not have the opportunity to face them and demand justice. This may be your only recourse to that end."

Another choice to make. Another possible misstep. She closed her eyes and tried to reason it out without revealing too much. "I see. You perceive that I require some kind of closure, and you are attempting to provide that by allowing me to testify at this trial. Ms. Julian-"

"CAROLINE!"

Booth's anger preceded him into the room. Sweets followed him.

"Just what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"Agent Booth, you need to calm yourself-"

"Do not tell me to 'calm myself'," he spat. "Your case is more than made. You don't need her, so what the fuck are you doing?"

"Booth, maybe we should-"

"No, Sweets. No. Her _case_ is what started all of this in the first place. I will be damned if I will sit back and watch my partner be put through the wringer to help out people who couldn't be bothered to do the one thing that might have saved her. Fuck that."

"Calm down, _Cher, _ you're right. It's unnecessary. We'll forget the witness tampering charge." She swished her hands, as if wiping it all away.

And the room twisted once again. "Wait, what?"

Everyone in the room looked a little shocked when Brennan spoke up. It was as though they'd forgotten she was there.

"You take me away from my work, summon me here, try to talk me into testifying, then drop it all because _he," _she gestured to Booth, "walks in here yelling?"

No one said anything, so she continued.

"I thought this meeting was between the two of us. He doesn't speak for me."

Booth tried to catch her eye, but she avoided him. He seemed deflated...so did Caroline.

"I apologize, Dr. Brennan. This meeting is between us. Would you be willing to testify?"

And at least she had made up her mind. "No. I would not. It would be a waste of my valuable time." She started gathering her things. "And for the record, Ms. Julian, this actually was a conversation we could have had via email." She continued to ignore the two men in the room as she walked to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my work."

She walked as quickly as she could, but she wasn't surprised when she heard two sets of footsteps following her and her partner's voice calling out to her.

"Bones! Bones, wait up!"

There would be no escaping him, so she turned to face him. Her armor was in place.

"Look, I'm sorry for that back there. I just heard what Caroline was trying to do, and-"

Brennan held up a hand to stop him. She didn't need this right now. She needed to get back to her lab. "There's no need to explain, Booth. You heard about Caroline's plans, and you jumped in to save me. But don't you think I've proven that I'm more than capable of saving myself when the situation calls for it? I have no need for a protector."

Her words hit their mark. She could see the pain on his face. She bit back the ache in her own chest and refused to allow herself to soften. Instead, she turned on the man beside him.

"What, Dr. Sweets? Do you have a reason to be involved in this conversation? Any pertinent psychological insights to offer?"

It turned out, the kid wasn't as easily subdued as her partner. His face and tone remained neutral.

Too bad, because she really wouldn't have minded a good argument.

"I'm glad to have you both in one place. We can discuss a schedule for your post-trauma psych evals so the two of you can get back to field work."

Another chance to be a decision-maker. One more opportunity to be certain. "Actually, Dr. Sweets, that will be unnecessary. I think my time is best spent in the lab right now."

"Wait," Booth stepped around Sweets, leaning in close to her, "Bones, are you saying you don't want to be partners?"

He sounded crushed, and her resolve almost crumbled. She could be making a significant mistake. But it was what she had to do- the thought of Sweets and all his questions, of spending her days with Booth and how she had never been able to keep secrets from him for very long. No, she couldn't do it. "Of course the Jeffersonian will continue to assist the FBI with identification and cause of death, but I cannot really justify going out into the field with you- not when I've gotten so behind. It shouldn't affect your solve rate...and the interns will oversee retrieval of remains. They're ready for that."

"Dr. Brennan," Sweets spoke up, "it is completely understandable that you might not want to return immediately to field work. The evaluations could take a while though, so perhaps we could go ahead and get started on that so that approval wouldn't be a factor when you decide you're ready to return."

It was a rational response. She wavered. But she couldn't really afford to waver here. "I don't see my stance on the matter changing in the near future. I do not have time to devote to pointless evaluations."

"Bones, let's talk about this. We're partners. I need you out there."

Her gaze was calculated. "Booth. You don't need me to track down and interrogate suspects. You never have." It wasn't a lie.

"That's not true! It's not true, Bones. What about all those times when you've spotted the right suspect because his hip was crooked or his tibia and fibula were reversed-"

"That has never happened."

"But it might! And I wouldn't be able to tell, because that's not what I do. We're a team. We complement each other. I charm them, you confuse them...it's who we are."

And there was a tragedy in that somewhere. Because it had been who they were, and because she recognized his desperation to hold on to everything that had been. She'd been that way once, but she'd had to let it go. The look on his face made her ache, but it would be nothing compared to the way he'd look at her if he knew the truth. And she'd never be able to keep it from him. Not if they were partners.

She thought she was doing a fine job of keeping her emotions in check, but Sweets must have seen something. He stepped in between them, putting an end to the conversation.

She wished she could understand it- the way he always seemed to see what she was trying to hide.

"That's fine, Dr. Brennan. The choice to refrain from field work is yours to make. Just contact me if you change your mind."

He had his hand on Booth's shoulder in an attempt to silence him, and it was working. When had Sweets earned so much influence over Booth?

Whatever holes she had left, other people were already stepping in to fill. Retreating would be easier than she'd expected.

The elevator opened, and she slipped away.


	36. Avoiding Reflections

**Chapter 36: Avoiding Reflections.**

Brennan refused to look at herself in the mirror as she pulled on yet another pair of drawstring pants. It had been two weeks, and she knew she really just needed to go shopping for clothes that fit. She did not have time for shopping, though, and she had a closet full of clothes that she liked, and she just...

She spent her days in the lab now. Anything she wore was covered by her blue lab coat. It wasn't important. Besides, she'd get her eating habits back in order soon enough. She'd gain her weight back, and she'd look like her old self, and she'd need her old clothes. She twisted her hair up in a knot, still avoiding the mirror.

On her way to the Jeffersonian, she made a mental list of everything she had to accomplish for the day. As she was no longer spending her days in the field with Booth, she had been able to make significant process in the Bone Storage Unit. It was very satisfying work.

"And in national news, the high-profile trial of alleged domestic terrorist and cult leader Marshal Coker has entered closing arguments..."

She switched off the radio; it was distracting.

She tugged on her lab coat as she entered her office. Another ostentatious bouquet had arrived from her publisher. The messages on the accompanying cards included increasingly desperate inquiries about plans for her new novel. She had more important things to do than write about Kathy and Andy. She didn't know why squandering her time on novels had ever seemed like a good idea. She almost tipped the flowers into the trash, but changed her mind at the last minute and placed them in Angela's empty office.

Flowers always made Angela smile.

Sitting down to her keyboard, she laughed at the hand-drawn cartoon waiting for her. It was a silly-looking bird with glasses, giving a lecture to a room full of mummies. She tacked it on her bulletin board with the rest of them. They were from Micah. She never saw him anymore, because she never stayed late at the office. She'd tried, but after a few days she noticed that no matter how late she stayed, one of her colleagues stayed too. Whoever it happened to be would always make up an excuse, but she knew he or she was really there to keep an eye on her.

It made her angry, but she chose to accept it, rather than fight it. After a while, they'd see she was fine, and they would leave her to her work. For now, she would leave with everyone else. There was plenty she could do from home.

It was nice, though, how Micah still made an effort to keep in touch.

oOo

She spent the day with Daisy in Bone Storage. Before, this would have been at the top of her list of most unpleasant ways to spend her day, but she had to admit that Daisy had proven useful in Maluku. Furthermore, she never stopped talking. Brennan was adept at tuning her out, and Daisy was content to talk about herself without ever asking for a response. There were no awkward pauses or heavy glances with Daisy. It was perfect.

She knew it was time to begin wrapping up when Cam joined them "Just to see how things are going." If the pattern held, in a few minutes Angela would show up and talk about how much she was looking forward to dinner. It signaled the end of her work day. She made meticulous notes on her stopping point, while Daisy put away the bones.

"Dr. Brennan, Lance and I were going to grab dinner. Want to join us?"

This was also part of the pattern. Someone always asked her to dinner. She always said no.

"Okay, well, we'll be at the empanada place if you change your mind!"

Brennan waved, went home, threw on a gigantic sweatshirt and waited for the final piece of the pattern.

She heard the shuffling of bags in her hallway, and she opened the door to her not-exactly-partner who was struggling to balance takeout while reaching for his cell phone.

"Why don't you just knock?"

"I like to call first, Bones. It's the polite thing to do."

"I fail to see how calling from directly outside the door is any more polite than just knocking. It's not as though you're actually giving me a choice in whether or not you come over."

"You wound me, Bones." He stepped around her and sat the bags on her counter. "And I brought you that soup you like, too."

The egg drop soup from the Thai place. It was her favorite. She could just sip the broth. She could manage that.

"While I appreciate the attention you pay to my preferences, you really shouldn't bring me dinner every night."

"Well, it's the only way I get to see you anymore. Besides, we've always eaten dinner together most nights anyway."

That wasn't true. That hadn't been true since his gamble in front of the Hoover. She let it slide, though. He wasn't the only liar between them.

He handed her the soup and a spoon before making his way to her couch. "Also, your television is better than mine, and I was in the mood to watch a game."

"What game?" She took her place next to him as he flipped through the channels.

"Eh, baseball, football...whatever."

"Are you...is that a rerun of a football game?"

"Classic Eagles."

"How can you possibly derive any pleasure from watching an old football game?"

"You'd be surprised, Bones, how easily I'm able to derive pleasure."

She scrunched her face. "I don't understand what that means."

"Yeah, me either. It just felt like something to say."

Brennan cocked her eyebrow and lifted her spoon to her lips. She'd been able to evade everyone's attempts at babysitting but Booth's. Having him at her house each evening both pleased her and frightened her. He hadn't pushed, but he would. He was looking for his moment. He was patient like that.

"Booth?"

He tore his eyes from the game, because he could hear the weight in her words. "Something you want to talk about, Bones?"

"I'm fine."

"I've never said any differently."

"Then why are you here?"

"We just went over that- food, television..."

"Do you really think you should be spending so much time away from Hannah?"

Something sparked in his eyes. "No need to worry about me, Bones."

"Okay. But I would like you to realize that the reverse is also true."

"Bones, look-" He was cut off by the sound of his cell phone. He whispered an expletive before he answered. "What's going on, Caroline?"

Brennan pretended she didn't notice when he cut a look at her, then walked back toward the kitchen, presumably for privacy. She couldn't make out his end of the conversation, but she could tell from the rise and fall of his tone that whatever was happening was not something that made him happy.

After a few minutes he came back to the sofa. His jaw was clenched and emotions she couldn't quite read were warring across his face.

She waited for him to offer an explanation, but he didn't seem able to speak.

"Is everything okay?"

He looked at her for a moment before answering. "The jury came back in the Coker case. They found him guilty. He'll be in prison for the rest of his life."

"That sounds appropriate." But it wasn't everything, she could tell. She waited.

"Max is out of custody. He was told about your abduction. Caroline wanted to give us the heads-up."

She wasn't ready for this. She should have been, but she wasn't.

Booth started to say something, but he was interrupted by a pounding at her door. The knocking was getting louder, and she knew she needed to get up and answer it, face whatever was on the other side. But she got lost in a memory, and she froze.

Booth was talking to her, saying something, but she wasn't there with him anymore. She was back in a prison created, at least in part, by Max and his lies.

Her father was here now, and he was going to make it impossible for her to pretend.


	37. We All Fall Down

**Author's Note: **If you have the Private Message feature disabled on your account, I can't reply to your reviews- but please know I appreciate them. Thanks to Amilyn for her excellent beta work!

**Chapter 37: We All Fall Down.**

Brennan may not have been ready to face Max, but Booth was. He had been waiting for this day for six weeks. Bones was rooted in place. She could say whatever she wanted about the knocking not bothering her, but her reaction was all he needed to be convinced that his gut was right.

Bones needed the knocking to end? He'd be happy to take care of that for her.

He yanked the door open, ready for a fight. The man on the other side wasn't who he'd expected, but he'd do just as well.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Where's my sister?" Russ Brennan made to step across the threshold, but Booth braced an arm against the jamb, blocking his way.

"If you think you're going to keep me out of this apartment, you're crazy. Look, I get it, you're pissed at me. And you know what, _Agent_ Booth? You can be as pissed at me as you want. I don't give a damn what you think, but I'm through letting you shut me out. I'm Tempe's _family-"_

"Yeah, well Russ, I've seen the consequences of being part of your _family,_ and I'm done letting Bones suffer them. I meant what I said on the phone. Leave now, or I'll make you regret it."

It would have come to blows, right there in her hallway, if Brennan hadn't chosen that moment to move toward the door. She appeared dazed, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. She looked nothing like Dr. Temperance Brennan. She looked lost and small and terrified. She stole their attention.

Russ started towards her, but Booth stopped him with a hand to the chest. He didn't know where Bones went in these moments, but he knew that the best way to bring her back was to give her space.

"Bones?" His voice was steady, masking his concern. "Hey, Bones- it was just Russ at the door. He's just here to check on you. It's okay."

Booth was talking to her, and Russ was staring at her, and she had to be fine. She forced her way back. Her breathing normalized, and her eyes registered her surroundings. She would not acknowledge her lapse, rather she eyed her brother.

"What are you doing here?" It was a question she was getting used to asking.

"You wouldn't answer your phone. I needed to know you were alright. I told you I was getting in the car."

"That was weeks ago."

"Yeah, I've been here for a while, working up the nerve to knock on your door. I...I couldn't wait any longer though. Tempe, I've been following the trial. It's over, and Dad knows, and I wanted to warn you-"

"Once again, Russ," Booth interrupted, "your information is too late to be useful. We know about the trial. We know about Max, and I'll handle him. There are plenty of people looking out for Bones, so we're good here. Without you."

"You know, man, I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but I'm not here to talk to you. I'm here to talk to my sister, and it's none of your concern."

"The hell it isn't. If it has to do with _my_ partner, it's my concern."

"Technically, Booth, we're not partners anymore." She mostly wanted to check out of this conversation. She would have been happy to go to bed and leave them to their argument, but she felt she had to interject on principle. It should have mattered to her that they were speaking as if she wasn't even there. As if she had no say in her own life.

Her comment hurt Booth, she saw the pain race across his features. And it pleased Russ- she recognized the look of triumph from their childhood.

She hadn't meant to take sides. She certainly hadn't meant to take Russ' side. She glanced longingly back at her sofa and the takeout cartons. It had been a mostly good night. Before.

More knocking. She went rigid. She could feel her heart pounding at twice its normal rhythm. The room started to spin. There was a physiological explanation for what was happening to her, but she couldn't remember it. Her instinct was to curl up, make herself small, throw her arms over her face- she fought it with everything in her.

Booth opened the door again. If she stayed very still, maybe they'd forget she was here. Maybe all of this could happen and get sorted out without her.

"Welcome to the party, Max. Now, why don't you take your son and go?"

"Where the hell were you, Booth?" Max didn't even let the door close behind him before he started yelling. "Where were you when they took her? Where were you when they held her for THREE FUCKING WEEKS?"

"You...You're really going to stand there and...," Booth's face was bright red from anger. He was literally spluttering, reaching for thoughts in his fury-addled mind. "Where was I?" His tone was low, deadly. "I was there, Max. I was there when they took her. Then I was here, spending every moment looking for her. Those first forty-eight hours? The ones that are so vital in cases of abduction? Those, I wasted. I spent them ripping apart the town of Virginia Beach, looking for a connection the case we'd been working. It was my best lead. I had no reason, you see, to believe that Bones had been snatched by some racist cult as a way to get to _you _because you didn't tell her a FUCKING THING! You did what you always do- you lied; and just like she always does, Bones paid the price. So don't you dare, don't you _dare_, come in here and ask me where _I _was, you lying fucking bastard. Don't you dare."

"I overestimated you, Booth. I trusted you to keep her safe. That's what you're always claiming to do, right? So you know what, I will come in here, and I will ask where you were, because from what I heard, you let them take her right out from under your federally certified nose."

"Dad-"

Brennan spoke, and her father pushed past the other men to take her in his arms. If he noticed the way she tensed and refused to return his embrace, he didn't let on. "Baby. I am so, so sorry." He pulled away to look her in the eye. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I want you to tell me, Tempe." He shook her a little. "I want you to tell me what they did to you."

She just wanted them all to go away. She wanted to disappear.

Booth didn't like the way Max Keenan was touching his partner. He didn't like the way it made her cower, so he grabbed his shirt and jerked him back. "Touch her again, and I'll kill you. I'll enjoy it."

"And you!" Max ignored Booth and turned on his son. "Where the fuck were _you_? I asked you to look out for her. I asked you to make sure this didn't touch her."

"What did you expect me to do?" Her brother's tone was desperate. "I didn't know anything about a cult. I didn't know that anyone would go after her. I couldn't have known that."

"You're right," Max was nose-to-nose with his son. "What did I expect of you? More than I should have. It's not as if I didn't already know what you were made of."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well this isn't exactly the first time you let your sister down, is it? Running off back when she was just a kid. I thought maybe you'd grown up, learned what it means to be family. Same old Russ."

That was a sucker punch, and it pissed Booth off. "And same old Max- trying to blame everyone else for _his_ mistakes. You did this. You lied. You asked your son to lie. You kept her in the dark, so she didn't know to look for trouble. You kept me from protecting her and from finding her in time. Your daughter was taking _your _place. She was paying for _your_ past. This whole mess? Is all you, Max. It's all you. You're poison. The best thing you could do for your daughter is walk out that door right now and never come back."

It was Max's turn to sound deadly. "Don't lecture me on how to love my daughter." He punctuated this by putting his fist right through her drywall.

The yelling started again, but she tuned it out. There was a hole in her wall. The damage was right there, for everyone to see. She couldn't leave it like that. She had to find a way to make it invisible.


	38. Valiant Attempts at Restoration

**Chapter 38: Valiant Attempts at Restoration.**

She kept spackle and a putty knife somewhere in here. She dug through the utility closet until she found it. She couldn't remember why she bought it, but she decided it had been a very practical thing to do. It was important not to let damage linger; you had to fix it as quickly as possible.

The three men in her living room were still yelling at each other. She was _so angry_ with them- all of them. They were each accusing the others of failing to take care of her, as if she were a burden to be shouldered. She had never needed looking after. When left on her own, she had always been fine.

She didn't have the energy to give voice to her thoughts, so she created a wall around herself, shut out their voices, and focused on the task in front of her. If she was meticulous in her work, no one would ever be able to tell that anything had been broken. If she did it perfectly, no one would be able to see unless they knew exactly what they were looking for.

She opened the spackle and began to spread it carefully. She had become so adept at removing herself from her surroundings that it did not register when the men stopped yelling and started staring. She missed the moment that they started noticing her.

She continued to slap the compound on the wall and to make sure that it was applied evenly. She loved it- the repetitive motion, the way the hole disappeared right in front of her. It was similar to the sense of satisfaction she achieved when putting together a fractured skull. She began to understand why some people found fulfillment in manual labor.

"Baby, tell me what they did to you."

There was a hand on her shoulder. It was just her father's hand, but she couldn't stop her lip from curling in disgust. She refused to turn around. Why did he insist on invading her space? Why couldn't he just leave her to her task? Why couldn't he just leave her?

"I thought Ms. Julian had already relayed all of the pertinent facts. I was abducted from a crime scene in Virginia Beach. I was transported to an underground holding structure in the Mountains of West Virginia, where I was held for twenty days. I fortuitously escaped just before my abductors committed mass suicide via an explosion. The ATF and FBI had planned a raid, so they were already on the scene-"

"Tempe, I'm not talking about the goddamned official report! I know what those men were like. I want to know if they hurt you."

"Why?" She faced him this time, genuinely perplexed.

"So I can make it right."

She choked out a harsh laugh and held her arms wide. "As you can see, I am fine. Those twenty days were not the most pleasant I've ever experienced, but there has been no lasting damage. The men responsible are dead, so I have no idea how you could possibly 'make things right.' Furthermore, even if you could, I would not want you to. Your methods of 'making things right' typically include illegal activities that then become my problems to solve."

"Tempe-"

But she was done listening to him, and she was through having to tune him out. "No. I don't appreciate your concern anymore. I want you to leave my home. You once warned me not to look for you. I did anyway, and that was my mistake. Now I would like for you to forget I ever ignored that warning. I want you to leave me to my work and my life. I want you to leave."

"You don't mean that. We're family. Tempe, I'm your father, and-"

"I do. I do mean it. Leave. _Please._ Leave me alone."

He placed a kiss on the top of her head and a shudder ran through her. "I can see you're upset and tired now, sweetie. I'll go. We'll talk another day."

He walked away, and she fought the urge to throw the spreader at his head. He didn't listen. He never listened.

She could feel her brother's eyes on her, and she turned to him, ready to release her anger, but Russ... He was really looking at her; it was as if he were able to see right through her. His eyes were so sad.

She deflated under his scrutiny. Her shoulders dropped, the tense set of her mouth relaxed. "What?" The note of desperation in her simple question was obvious.

"Nothing. I...I'm sorry I barged in on you Tempe. I'm going to go now."

He held her gaze, and she nodded, sighing wearily as he turned to go. She stood there in the middle of her living room for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Eventually, she pulled her shoulders back up and returned her attention to her wall.

There was still so much work to do. She'd have to wait for it to dry. Then she would have to sand it, make sure it was even so no one would notice. After that, she'd have to paint. There would be so many steps. Did she even have sandpaper? She was pretty sure she had some in the closet. She went to retrieve it, and when she returned, Booth was touching up the spackle.

But it wasn't his repair to make.

"You should go home now. It's late."

"It's not so late, Bones. Besides, I'm almost done here- just a few more strokes, and it will be as good as new."

She strode over to him and snatched the putty knife out of fingers. "Go."

"Bones, just let me-"

"No! I am perfectly capable of fixing this myself. I do not need your help. Go! I want you to go."

"I don't-"

"I know what you're doing, Booth. I _know_ you. You will stay, and you will fix my wall, and you will make jokes, and then all of the sudden you will bring up what just happened with my father. You will start with your tired old lecture about how family is everything and about how we need each other even-"

"Bones, trust me-"

"NO. No, I don't trust you. I don't trust you, and I want you to go!" And she was being so, so unfair, but she needed everyone gone. She needed him gone.

He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him. Looking at him always diverted her off course. She took the putty knife she had grabbed away from him and began to use it meticulously over the damaged area. She could feel him behind her, waiting for her to turn around.

Before, she would have turned around.

It took him longer than she would have thought, but eventually he must have realized that things weren't what they were before. He stopped waiting for her, and he left. She leaned her head against the wall when she heard the click of the door. She pushed back to survey her work. It was excellent.

It was so easy to fix.

oOo

He stood outside her door for a while. Waiting for her to change her mind. Waiting for the strength not to follow Max Brennan and finish their confrontation elsewhere. While he waited, he listened, expecting sobs or the sounds of plates smashing.

But Bones had never really been one to give him the expected, and eventually he realized that there would be no end to his waiting. Not tonight.

And while it wasn't his partner's job to convince him that everything was going to be okay, he found it impossible to go home without reassurance... which lead him to another woman's door.

"Bones is doing fine, right?" It was the best he could do for a greeting, and that was okay, because it was Cam, and she knew him. She opened the door wide to let him pass.

"Define 'fine'." It wasn't sarcasm, it was honesty.

Booth sank onto her couch, burying his head in his hands. Cam sat beside him, waiting patiently.

"I was with her tonight, having dinner. Max and Russ showed up unexpectedly."

Cam grimaced. "Yikes."

"Yeah, it wasn't great. There was yelling. Max punched a hole in the wall."

"Oh my god. What did Brennan do?"

And this was the important part, so he looked her in the eye. "She fixed it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she got out the spackle and fixed it." He shrugged, laughed bewilderedly. "Then she asked Max to leave. And Russ left too." He paused. "Then, she asked me to leave."

Cam nodded slowly. "Okay. Well, that all sounds normal. It all sounds like Brennan."

"She said she didn't want me to stay, because she didn't want me to lecture her on the importance of family. Cam, do you think she blames-?"

And now she was shaking her head. "Stop."

"I'm the one who encouraged her to give Max a second-."

"Stop." She said it firmly, putting her hand on his for emphasis. "Do not go down this road."

"She said she didn't trust me." He could hear the break in his own voice.

"And what did you say?"

"Nothing. I did what she wanted. I left."

"Then you did the right thing." She answered his skeptical look with a firm one. "Look, you asked me if I thought she was fine. No, I don't." And she must have been able to tell that he was about to enter a full-blown panic, because she continued quickly, "It's barely been a month. Of course she isn't fine. It wouldn't be normal if she were fine. But she's here. And she's trying. I think the best any of us can do is follow her lead and try right along with her."

"What if she shuts me out?"

"Don't let her. Booth, don't you dare let her." And now he'd pushed Cam into lecture mode. "Stuff like tonight, and that whole 'she doesn't trust me' thing? That's you giving in to weakness. That's you letting her scare you off. If she pushes you away, give her space, but don't let her believe that it's going to be permanent." She pursed her lips, and he knew that look, knew that it meant she was preparing to say something he didn't really want to hear. "Booth...you know I was a cop..."

And, yeah, this was definitely about to go somewhere bad. "Spit it out Camille."

She ignored the use of her full name and gave him a searching look, as if she were trying to gauge how much he could take. She must not have liked what she saw, because her words were soft, careful. "It had to have been harder than she's letting on, that's all. I think we should follow her lead, but I think we should watch her." She turned away from him then. "And I think we have to show her that we're tough, that we can handle whatever she has to throw at us. I think that's going to be important, Booth."

Although it was delivered kindly, he knew a directive to "grow a set" when he heard one. That he could do. The rest of Cam's point, the part that was a warning of tougher truths to come. Well, that he'd face when it was time.


	39. Downfalls

**Author's Note: **This chapter is up about 8 hours early, because A. It's a holiday weekend, and I am up later than usual (hoping, in turn, to be able to sleep later than usual), and B. Laffers seemed insistent that I update before she wakes up. I am too lazy to google the time difference between Tennessee and the UK, so I'm taking a shot in the dark here.

**Chapter 39: Downfalls.**

Things were not exactly going well.

She had been home for just over a month, and she still hadn't been able to get her life back to its sets of orderly routines. She walked into her office noting the absence of bouquets. That, she supposed, was something for which she should be thankful. Her publisher had finally gotten the message- no more books. No more Kathy and Andy.

At first, there had been talk of her just taking time to "get her head on straight." Eventually, when they'd realized that her head wasn't crooked at all, there had been conversations about breach of contract and liabilities. Brennan hadn't cared. Those were problems that could be resolved with money, and money was one thing of which she had no shortage. A problem out of which she could buy her way was no problem at all.

So, she was no longer an author- only a scientist. It was a relief to be one step closer to her old life. It was unfortunate, however, that nothing else was so easily put back into place. She was still unable to wear anything without a drawstring. She didn't weigh herself, but she had probably lost weight since her return. A liquid diet was the best she could manage, and her inability to push through her memories and just eat was a source of constant self-loathing. She was weak and out of shape, and her work suffered as a result. It was difficult to concentrate outside of the morning hours. Even if she hadn't had to accommodate the watchfulness of her colleagues, she wouldn't have been able to keep her old schedule.

Of course, there were advantages to that. She left each day at 5:30. Her father, who had resumed his position with the museum's after-school program, did not get off until 6:00. He would still corner her from time to time, but leaving early made it much easier to avoid him.

It also helped that she never went directly home. She had started taking her friends up on their rotating offers of dinner. When she could, she ate soup. When that wasn't possible, she pushed her food around on her plate and hoped no one noticed. When it was Angela, who always noticed, she forced her food down. She always felt a bit triumphant afterwards, but it never lasted long. Eventually she would see flashes of translucent eyes, or hear the dragging of a foot on the stairs, and then she'd have to find a way to vomit discreetly.

It was exhausting.

And then there was Booth. She had hoped that her outburst on the night her father had returned would keep him away, but it didn't. If anything, it made him even more persistent. She had successfully thwarted their nightly dinners, but Booth seemed to take it in stride. Even though they no longer went out in the field together, he was always around. If he brought in a body or evidence, he would stay the entire time they spent processing it. Cam had started joking that they were going to have to assign him his own workstation.

He'd stand beside her and ask for explanations and crack jokes. He'd smile, but the look in his eyes while he watched her was always intense. She never got to drop her guard.

With Booth, she had definitely miscalculated. He had turned her into an actor, even here. In her lab, where she was supposed to be safe. Even pointed comments about Hannah wouldn't send him running. She was so tempted to barge into Angela's office and demand a more thorough explanation of her _fake it 'til you make it_ principle. Just how long did the faking it stage typically last? She would work better with a timeframe.

She had never been very comfortable with ambiguity.

Another cartoon from Micah was waiting for her- mummies, raking leaves. She was running out of room to display them, but she was concerned that failing to do so would make it appear that she did not appreciate them. It was important to her that the cartoons didn't go away. They made little sense, but she liked them. She counted on them.

She collapsed into her chair, tired from the short walk from the parking structure. How could this be who she had become? She bit her lip and concentrated on Micah's cartoon until she was sure she wouldn't cry. She pulled up her calendar to review the day's tasks. She made herself sit tall. She was a competent professional. She was Dr. Temperance Brennan, and she was the best at what she did.

A reminder popped up in her calendar that made her close her eyes in relief. Booth had a quarterly training today at Quantico. If they were still working together, she would have had to have gone too. Booth hated those trainings. He would complain about them the entire ride over. She'd join in, talking about the waste of her extremely valuable time. Secretly, she had always looked forward to them.

There was the car ride to Quantico, for which Booth would always bring coffee and doughnuts. She'd want to listen to NPR, but he'd insist on music. She'd act annoyed, so he would serenade her obnoxiously in an attempt to earn her forgiveness, and it always worked. He was a terrible singer- really, really terrible- but he did it with such joy. She loved it. Then, there was the training itself, during which they'd sit in the back and trade facetious comments about the speaker. Those were her favorite times, because there they would be in a room full of FBI agents- his people- and he would sit with her. He'd talk only to her. All of those people, and he always chose her.

She pursed her lips. Today, he would go to Quantico alone, and she would be able to work in peace. In the new landscape of her life, it was the best she could hope for.

She made her way to the platform to resume her work with the remains that had arrived the day before. Clark had already cleaned and assembled the bones, and it was time to look for a possible cause of death. She nodded to Hodgins at work at a microscope, and lost herself in irregularities and striations and possibilities.

oOo

"Dr. Brennan!"

She had been studying the bones for several hours when Clark, sounding excited, came running toward her with an X-ray film. She knew it had been hours, because Angela had already dragged Hodgins away for lunch, claiming the baby required pulled pork; Hodgins had returned from that trip a bit ago, so it had to be at least 1:00.

She stood and stretched her back.

"What is it Mr. Edison?"

"I think I might have found something to indicate possible cause of death."

He came to stand beside her on the platform and placed the film on the screen.

"Here-"

He began his explanations, but Brennan's ability to hear was sucked away. There was a clicking against the intern's teeth, the smell of cinnamon. A piece of hard candy. He had a piece of cinnamon candy, and he was no longer Mr. Edison, her most promising intern.

_She could not breathe. A forearm was pressed against her throat, and she absolutely could not breath. Her mouth was open, but she couldn't make a sound. Her sense of smell was the only one that seemed to work, and it was smothering her with cinnamon. If it had been possible, she would have cried, but she was not capable of doing anything at all. Teeth were digging into her breasts, her stomach. She was literally being torn apart. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear...she could only smell._

There was a moment, before it happened, in which she was able to separate reality from memory. She was in her lab. She was talking to Clark. But the smell was overriding everything.

She was helpless over her own reaction.

Clark realized that something was not right. His face was contorted. He was questioning her, but his words were so far away. Even if she had been able to understand, she wouldn't have been able to answer- her voice had ceased to function.

She knew what was going to happen. She knew there would be consequences. But she couldn't stop it.

The world flipped upside down and faded to black.


	40. A Time Out

**Author's Note: **A few people have asked about my posting schedule, so I thought I'd tell you that I post on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays (in the Central time zone). This chapter is going up early, because I'm about to have house guests (YAY! No, really, YAY!), and I suspect that will limit my posting time, as well as my ability to respond to reviews for this chapter. Everything will go back to normal next week. Oh, and for those who like to see the end coming, this story will have 57 chapters.

**Chapter 40: A Time Out.**

Her eyes snapped open, and she was flat on her back. She was surrounded. Eyes were looking at her, hands were reaching for her- she had to make them go away. She needed to fight. She had wasted so many chances to fight, and now she didn't have any left. She...

But it wasn't dark. It was unnaturally bright- too bright for underground. It gave her pause, kept her from lashing out. People were talking to her, saying her name- her real name- and their tones weren't angry or cruel. The faces around her came into focus, and they weren't the men at all. They were the faces of people she loved. People who loved her back.

She was on the platform in her lab. She was safe.

"Bren? Bren, are you okay? You passed out! Bren?"

"I don't know what happened. I was showing her the X-ray, and her eyes rolled back. I caught her before she hit her head."

The smell of cinnamon again. Clark. It was Clark, her intern, not the nameless man who had left her with all those scars.

She was home. She was fine.

"Dr. B?" Hodgins was holding up his finger for her to follow with her eyes. "Cam, maybe we should take her to the ER."

No. She would not be going back to the hospital. "Absolutely not. I'm fine." She pulled herself up.

"Dr. Brennan, it might not hurt to just-"

"I said no! I'm fine." She had to get away from them and their concerned stares. She stood, but her legs threatened to crumple again, so she grabbed the railing and propelled herself down the steps. Once she was moving, she didn't stop until she reached the restroom.

She made it to the sink and began furiously splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to clear her head and rid herself of the smell of cinnamon. It was a smell that used to bring her comfort. As a little girl, her mother would make her warm milk with cinnamon and honey to help her sleep. As an adult, she'd always tipped a small amount in her morning coffee. She'd read once that the scent of cinnamon had been proven to increase one's sense of well-being. Irony, the very definition of it.

She splashed more water on her face and glared at herself in the mirror. Lots of people ate cinnamon candy; she had to get over it. She could not allow herself to faint over something as inconsequential as a smell.

There was a soft knock, and Angela entered the restroom.

"I'm. Fine."

"I know, Sweetie." Angela sat on the small love seat that had been inexplicably placed in the bathroom and patted the cushion next to her. "Come sit here. We're taking a time-out."

Brennan knew this was a trap. She knew she should walk out and return to her office as if nothing had happened, but the soft words of her friend and the thought of a time-out proved too tempting to resist. She sank onto the love seat and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. Beside her, Angela shifted until she was on her knees, then began separating Brennan's hair into sections.

"What are you doing?"

"French-braiding your hair, now be still."

"Angela-"

"Shh. Did you know that Avalon told me the baby was going to be a girl?"

"How could I possibly know that?"

"Well, I just told you. So, if the baby's going to be a girl, I need to brush up on my braiding skills. Stop squirming!"

"Fine. For the baby." In the mirror across the room, she caught Angela's smile.

It felt good, actually, her friend's hands in her hair. Brennan watched in the mirror for a while before she gave in to the irresistible feeling of being cared for and closed her eyes. "You know, Daisy cut my hair in Maluku."

"How could I possibly know that?" Angela's voice was gently mocking.

"Very funny, Ange. I'm telling you now."

"You let Daisy near your head with scissors? Wow. I guess people really do crazy things in the islands."

"Ms. Wick proved herself quite capable. I made sure to observe her trimming five other women's hair before letting her touch mine."

"That's my girl."

"_Anyway,_" Brennan smiled, her eyes still closed, "I let her give me bangs. I liked them."

"I liked them too."

"They grew out while I...while I was being held."

"I noticed." Angela must have made a mistake, because she undid several sections and re-braided them.

"I wish...I'd like to have the bangs back." That was the truth.

Angela dropped the braid and embraced her from behind. "That's something we can fix, Bren. We can fix your hair. We can make it just the way it was. Hell, if you want I can call Daisy and her scissors in right now."

Brennan laughed and leaned into the hug. "I cannot say that Daisy would be my first choice if there were other available options."

"Ha. Now you're talking like the genius I know you are. There are definitely other options. Bren! We can have a girls' day! I'll make an appointment at that place in Georgetown. We'll go this weekend, you and me."

Angela seemed so excited. At first she had seemed sad, but now... Brennan knew she should say no. Other than the dinners, she had been trying to spend as much of her spare time as possible alone. It was just easier that way; when she was around her friends, she was so afraid she'd slip and say something she'd meant to leave unsaid. She was so afraid of appearing anything other than fine.

A Saturday with Angela. Getting her hair cut, perhaps engaging in harmless gossip...just like before. She should say no. But how could she?

She glanced down at her wretched drawstring pants. She had to stop pretending that she was going to go back to the way she used to be. "Could we possibly go shopping for some new clothes? My old ones...they don't fit anymore."

Angela stood and pulled her up too, then she grabbed both of her hands and started bouncing up and down. "Can we go shopping too? Are you kidding me? Oh, we are going to have the best day ever!"

"Angela. Angela, stop bouncing- you're jostling the baby."

"The baby likes jostling...and shopping." She looked down at her stomach. "Are you getting excited little one? We're going shopping with Auntie Bren on Saturday. We're going to get her a whole new wardrobe."

Angela's excitement was contagious. She remembered a time back in fifth grade when the girl she had considered her best friend, Laura Jacobs, had refused to sit beside her on the bus. She would not offer an explanation, and Brennan hadn't understood. It had been a very upsetting experience, but when she'd gotten home, her mother declared that she needed an emergency shopping trip. Brennan had failed to see how shopping could resolve the issue with Laura, but her mother insisted. They drove into the city and had fancy hot chocolate and bought a new sweater- a purple one, with a bow. It went against all logic, but it really had helped.

A Saturday with Angela. At the end of it, she'd have her hair back the way she liked it, and she'd have clothes that made her feel like herself. It would not undo the damage, but even a superficial repair was a place to start.


	41. Blind Spots

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter- sorry my crazy house guests kept me from replying individually. If it helps at all, they're still here, and I'm ignoring them to post this.

**Chapter 41: Blind Spots.**

When she recovered from her excitement over the shopping trip, Angela finished the braid and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You look perfect. The baby thanks you for allowing me the chance to practice."

"Yes, I'm sure the baby is very grateful." Her answer was sardonic as she glanced at her reflection.

"Yes, she is," Angela replied happily, refusing to take the bait. She stepped up behind Brennan in the mirror. "Why do you think you fainted, Bren?"

"Low blood sugar would be my best guess. I skipped breakfast, and it is well past lunchtime."

"You shouldn't skip meals."

"I know."

"You've lost a lot of weight."

"I was not fed regularly by my abductors."

Angela blanched. "But even since you've been back...you've lost weight. Booth's nickname for you is starting to take on a whole new significance."

That she could work with. "I don't know what that means."

"I'm not playing that game, Bren. You don't have any clothes that fit."

"We're going to buy new clothes."

Angela opened her mouth to continue, but Brennan cut her off. "I need to get back out there. Clark had some information to share, and I really should do something about my blood sugar." She gave Angela a hug- it was the best way to distract her. "Thanks for the braid."

"Bren-" Her friend called after her, but she didn't bother to turn around.

Stepping back into the lab, all eyes were on her. Again.

"I'm fine," she sought to fend off their concerned looks as she approached the platform. "Just a drop in blood sugar, that's all. Mr. Edison, I believe you had a possible cause of death?"

"I reviewed it with him, Dr. Brennan. I made notes and put them in the case file on your desk. Maybe you should take the day, get some rest."

"Dr. Saroyan, I-"

"At the very least, you need to grab some lunch. We can't have you fainting on the platform again, can we?"

They felt sorry for her. She could hear it in Cam's voice and see it on everyone else's face. It was unbearable. "No. No, no we cannot. I will step out for a moment to eat. Mr. Edison, when I get back, I'll expect you to be ready to present your findings."

She made her way quickly out of the Jeffersonian and to the diner. Enough was enough. It was time to put an end to her foolish aversion to food. She had no use for psychology; this was a matter of discipline. It was as simple as that. She roughly pulled out a chair at her regular table and determinedly ordered a garden salad.

She had passed out at work. It was humiliating.

When the waitress brought her salad, she faced it like the enemy. She pulled out her utensils and began attacking it accordingly. She chewed and swallowed her food without even tasting it.

"Dr. Brennan, what did that salad ever do to you?"

"Ms. Julian. I didn't see you there."

"Just got here, _cherie_. Came for my afternoon strawberry milkshake." She made her way to Brennan's table and took a seat.

"Oh..I..." Was Caroline planning to sit with her while she ate? She started to panic. "I don't really have time to talk. I need to finish my lunch quickly and get back to the Jeffersonian. We've been incredibly busy."

The prosecutor took a leisurely sip of her milkshake. "Hmph. Don't I know it. People gettin' killed left and right these days. It's a damn shame. I was barely able to sneak away for my milkshake."

"I-"

"You know what I just realized, Dr. Brennan?"

"No. I do not." She eyed the other woman warily.

"You and I never get to talk, just the two of us."

"Is that...is that a bad thing?"

"Agent Booth or one of those renegade scientists is always glued to your side, preventing us from having a proper conversation. For instance, I bet you don't even know why I became a prosecutor."

"No, I don't, although I cannot see how that information is pertinent."

"Oh, well, let me tell you. Now, you knew from your little tango with the voodoo priest that I grew up in Louisiana, right?"

"Yes, from that and from your colorful vernacular."

"Uh huh, well, my senior year of high school, I begged and begged my mama to let me go to the prom. She was real strict, you see. I was her only child, and she never let me out of her sight. I never went to homecoming games, or slumber parties- nothing like that."

"Anthropologically speaking, that makes sense. As your mother's only offspring, you would have represented her only hope of passing on her genes. It is understandable that she would have been over-protective."

"Right. So, the prom was a big deal. I saved and saved to by my dress, and it was _nice._ Yellow, off-the-shoulder, really lovely. I had the body for it back then, too, let me tell ya."

"I do not see the connection between this story and your career path."

"I'm getting to that, _cherie._ Now, Mama let me go to the prom, but she wouldn't let me date. No ma'am, I was not allowed to ride in a car with a boy. But you see, Sam Dickinson had been sweet on me for years- I told you, I was really something to look at back then- and he wanted to take me. So, I told Mama that I was going with my girlfriends. Sam and I had it all planned out. I left the house like I was going to meet the girls, but instead, I walked six blocks to Holt's Five & Dime and met Sam in the parking lot. It was far enough away that none of our neighbors would spot me and report back to Mama, and none of Mama's friends would be caught dead at Holt's. They were loyal customers of Draper's at the end of our street."

"Oh, then that was a very clever plan."

"Well, Dr. Brennan, I was very clever. Sam and I had a _wonderful_ time at the prom. We danced every dance, and my yellow dress was the envy of all my friends. It was the perfect night. Mama said I had to be home by midnight, or she'd come to that dance looking for me- and trust me, she would have- so Sam and I left at 11:15. He parked the car at Holt's, and I got ready to leave. He tried to give me a goodnight kiss, but I was having none of that. Sam was a good dancer, and he looked okay in a suit, but he had this nasty old gap in his front teeth. I wasn't going to waste my first kiss on a boy with bad teeth."

"His genes were undesirable to you."

"Exactly. So I started walking the six blocks home. Just as I was making my way past Cleveland Park, I heard something in the bushes. Before I knew it, there was a big strong hand covering my mouth and pulling me off the sidewalk."

Brennan dropped her fork. Caroline didn't miss a beat.

"I was three blocks from my house, and that man started tearing at my yellow dress. I tried to fight him off, but I couldn't move. From time to time, I could hear other people passing on the sidewalk, but he had my mouth covered so I couldn't scream. I couldn't do anything to stop him."

"He raped you?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes, he raped me."

"What did you do?"

"I got up, I went home, and I never said a word."

The shallow breathing again. Damn it. "Why not? Why didn't you tell the police?"

"Honey, it was Louisiana, and the man who pulled me into the park that night was white. In those days, going to the police would've brought me nothin' but trouble."

"But your mother...surely she would have insisted-"

"My mother never knew a thing."

"That's...that's not possible. The woman you described...she would have been waiting up for you. She would have seen your torn dress...there were probably other injuries. She would have had to have seen."

"_Cherie, _sometimes loving a person makes you blind."

"That is completely without found-"

"Hold on," Caroline spoke gently, but held her hand up to interrupt. "I meant metaphorically. When you love someone, you want them to be okay. The idea of them being hurt...it's a load too heavy to carry. So you miss things. You choose not to see what's right in front of your face." She paused meaningfully. "And sometimes the person who's hurt loves you back, and they don't want you to have to carry that burden any more than you want to carry it. So they let you pretend not to see it."

Brennan stared down at her plate. "I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing to be said. Things were what they were, and I accepted them. Went to college, then law school. That's why I became a prosecutor. I've had to accept that the good Lord is going to have to be the one to sort out the man who raped me, but I've made a career of making sure that other people find justice in _this_ world, in _this_ life."

Her heart was pounding in her ears. "Why did you tell me this?"

"Well, it's milkshake day, and I saw you sitting here, and you looked like you could hear it."

"That...is not a logical reason."

Caroline took a final, loud slurp of her milkshake. "I'll leave to your salad, Dr. Brennan." She rested a hand on Brennan's shoulder as she stood to leave. "Just know that now I'm in your debt."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if you ever find yourself with a story to tell, I can hear it."


	42. Marks

**Author's Note**: Please know how much I appreciate each of your reviews...my life is now getting back to its nice, boring normal, so I'll be back to replying individually.

**Chapter 42: Marks**.

She kicked off her shoes as she walked in the door of her apartment. Literally kicked them. She sent one of her flats flying into the living room. She hadn't done that in years. It had seemed like a poor way to win favor in her foster homes, and later, as she'd grown older, it had just seemed childish. It felt good now, though. Really good.

She'd made it through the day without embarrassing herself further. She'd finished her salad and kept it down. Tonight, she would make herself a baked potato, and she would make herself enjoy it. Memories were nothing- they would fade, and they had no power. She would not allow memories to take away her health and her ability to do her work.

She was determined to be fine.

She turned on the oven to pre-heat it, and she thought about Booth at Quantico. She wondered who he sat with during the training. She considered calling him to let him know that she was staying in for dinner. He'd brought her food so many times. She owed him a baked potato.

But a baked potato would never be enough to satisfy Booth, and it seemed wrong to invite him to dinner without Hannah, and there was no way she was prepared to have two people over. It was better that she eat alone tonight anyway- her experiment was still too new.

Besides, she began scrubbing the potato, she couldn't stop thinking about Caroline's story from lunch. It was disturbing, such a horrible thing to happen to a teenage girl. She hadn't even had her first kiss. Brennan couldn't shake the image of a young Caroline Julian, her beautiful yellow dress all torn and stained.

It was awful, but that wasn't the only reason it haunted her. She recognized Caroline's story for what it was- an attempt to commiserate with another human being who had lived through a similar experience. What she didn't understand, what she would never be able to understand, was how Caroline _knew. _She and Caroline were not close friends. The prosecutor was one of Booth's people, not hers. They'd seen each other exactly once since Brennan had come home. How could she know?

It was crushing, the idea that there was something marking her...something that other people could see. She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn't help but wonder if some things, some experiences, just stick to you. If Caroline knew, who else knew? Sweets? Cam? Angela? What did they see when they looked at her?

These weren't things she usually considered. She'd never been concerned with what other people saw in her. It had always been enough just to do her job very well. She hated that it was no longer enough.

Angela had commented about her weight- did she understand why Brennan couldn't eat? Did she know what her best friend had done for food? The thought was almost enough to make her throw the potato away rather than wrap it in foil and put it in the oven.

But she couldn't do that either. Because of course Angela didn't know. Neither did Caroline Julian. No one could know details like that unless she told them, and she never would.

She slammed the door to the oven. If they knew, it would destroy her. How would they be able to look at her, much less work with her? What if someone told Max? The thought made her tremble. She imagined having to cope with her father's reaction, and it made her want to shake off her own skin.

What if someone told Booth?

Once again, her mind recreated the X-rays of his feet, of the damage that had been done long ago by a rubber pipe. Booth had been tough. He thought she had been tough. He might be disgusted with her.

Worse, he might pity her. Every time he'd look at her, he might think, "Poor Bones. They made her sell herself for food." He might never want to eat with her again, because of the images the knowledge would leave in his mind. He'd once said that he'd liked how she wasn't what anyone expected. He'd admired the way she was able to take care of herself. What would happen when he found that she wasn't special at all?

Worst of all, he might blame himself. She knew him; she knew how illogical he was when it came to taking blame. Even now, she could tell that he took responsibility for letting them take her, for not finding her more quickly. What would he do to himself if he found out what had happened to her during those days in which he was looking for her? She wouldn't be his friend anymore. She'd be one more failure, weighing him down, crushing him.

There were tears streaming down her face, and she hated how easily that happened these days. She hated how hard she had to fight all the time. She was tired, and she wanted to give up. She wanted to scream and break things.

But she had learned long ago that it is not efficient to break down. You just have to put yourself back together again at the end. She had always despised inefficiency.

She leaned over to examine the hole her father had put in the wall. Enough time had passed for her to sand it and paint it. The damage was done, but it was nearly impossible to see. She had done an excellent job of covering it up.

She straightened. People were looking at her, and they were able to tell that something was broken...but that wasn't surprising, really. She raced to the mirror, staring at herself once again.

She was still too thin. Her hair was still all wrong, and so were her clothes. She never left the lab. She never stayed late to finish her work. Sometimes, she passed out.

She kept saying she was fine, but how could they believe her?

If there were marks, if something was sticking to her, she had to shake it off. She had to convince everyone that what they were seeing was wrong.

She had to find a way to be herself again.


	43. Baby Steps

**Chapter 43: Baby Steps.**

"Come on in, Dr. B. Angela got a late start, but she'll be down in a minute."

Brennan followed Hodgins to the island in the kitchen. "I like your new home very much."

"Thanks. I could give you the tour while we're waiting on Angie."

"I'd like that."

They wandered from room to room, with Hodgins pointing out small architectural details and describing plans for improvements. Brennan could tell that he had a great deal of pride in the new place. As she stepped over boxes on her way out of the study, she asked, "Do you need help unpacking? It seems like you still have a lot of boxes left."

"Nah. I've got a company coming in next week to take care of it while we're at work."

"Angela's going to allow other people to unpack and arrange her things?"

"Well, I don't want her doing anything strenuous. It's not good for the..." Hodgins trailed off under his friend's skeptical gaze. "It's going to be a disaster isn't it? Whatever they do, she's going to hate it and insist on redoing it herself, isn't she?"

"I imagine it would be more likely that she will insist on _you_ redoing it, while she provides direction."

"Yeah," Hodgins laughed, "I should probably cancel the workers."

"It is entirely up to you. You have plenty of money, so if you want to waste it..."

"I'll call them as soon as the two of you leave. Hey, do you want to see the nursery?"

He led her into a large room painted a soft shade of green. A crib stood in the center, with a rocking chair off to the side. Other than those two pieces of furniture, the only other items in the room were a series of tiny canvases creating a border across the middle of the walls. Each one had a different painting- blocks, butterflies, a tiny pair of shoes. They brought a smile to her face.

"Pretty adorable, huh? Angie's been painting several a week ever since we got the news about the baby."

"They're beautiful."

"I think so. Look- she did the bug ones for me."

Brennan laughed at the ladybugs and grasshoppers and... "Hodgins? Is that a depiction of the beetles we use to clean flesh off of bones?"

"Sure is," he said proudly. "At first, she refused to paint it, but those beetles are special to me, you know?" Brennan nodded, and he continued, "Finally, she agreed when I told her she could paint them purple...makes it less realistic."

"I think...that was an excellent compromise."

Hodgins gave a little bow. "Why thank you, Dr. B."

She walked the perimeter, taking in all of the paintings. One in particular caught her attention, and she turned back to Hodgins. "A skeleton?"

"A very happy and not at all creepy skeleton. She did that one for you."

Brennan's smile widened.

"She's really excited about today. She's missed you."

"I've been home for over a month."

"I know, but..."

"But what, Hodgins?"

"What you must have gone through...the rest of us, we can't even imagine. She's just been...we've all been...worried."

Her smile faded. "No need to worry. I'm-"

"Fine. I know. That's what you keep saying."

"But you think I'm lying?"

His eyes widened. "No. No, of course not. I just...you know when we were trapped in that car underground, I had a really hard time afterward. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't concentrate-"

"Hodgins, the two situations are very different."

"I know. I mean, what happened to you, it had to be so much worse. That's why I've been worried, because you keep saying you're fine, but-"

"Please-"

"I know you're strong. You're probably the strongest-minded person I know, and I've always admired you for it. I know you like to work things out on your own, but it really helped me to talk to someone after the Gravedigger thing, and it might-"

"Stop."

Hodgins lowered his eyes, nodded his head. "Okay. Okay, Dr. B." He looked back up at her, his eyes pleading. "Did you watch Mr. Rogers growing up?"

The question confused her. Hodgins' eyes didn't match his words, but she answered, "No. No, I watched 3-2-1 Contact."

And though his eyes still seemed sad, her answer brought a smile to his face. "Yes! 3-2-1 Contact. Science, baby."

She smiled back at him, still not understanding the new direction of this conversation.

He continued, "Well, Angela watched Mr. Rogers. Of course." They shared a knowing look. "She seems to have chosen him as her parenting expert of choice. She's been reading everything the man ever wrote or said...making me read it too. Anyway, there was this thing he once said, 'That which is mentionable is manageable.' I thought about it, and decided it was true. It made me think of you." He looked at her then, and once again his eyes seemed to be pleading. "You know, of everyone in the lab, I've known you the longest. I consider you to be one of my dearest friends, and I just...I had to make sure that you knew I was here...if you ever needed me, if you ever wanted to talk. So now you know. Try not to hold it against me?"

Apparently even Hodgins could make her cry these days. She blinked back tears and bit her lip. She had been angry with him when first started talking, but he'd spoken to her so gently and sincerely... "Of course I won't. I'm going to be okay, but I do appreciate your concern. I, too, consider you one of my dearest friends."

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" Suddenly Angela was in doorway, looking worried.

"Everything's fine, Angela. Hodgins was just showing me the nursery. I love the paintings."

Her friend instantly brightened. "Thanks! Did he show you the skeleton?"

"Yes. It is not at all creepy."

oOo

Brennan stepped out of the salon feeling as if a weight had been lifted. She had her bangs back, as well as some freshly trimmed layers. She had the nearly irresistible urge to swing her hair back and forth, just to feel how it fell. Angela had opted for a manicure rather than a haircut, and she was shaking her hands in an effort to speed up the drying process.

"Angela, you know that is completely ineffective, right? If you were worried about your nails, why didn't you spend more time under the UV light?"

"Honey, there wasn't time. If we're going to get you all new clothes, we've got to hurry up...besides, I need lunch."

Right, lunch. So far, Brennan had been relatively successful in her attempts to resume eating. She had tried cereal that morning, but the clang of the spoon against her bowl reminded her too much of the way her hands would shake as she ate her rice, causing the spoon to constantly knock against the bowl. She'd had to get rid of the cereal and have a smoothie instead. The idea of eating with Angela today made her anxious.

When her friend spotted a sandwich stop and headed toward it, she relaxed a little. She could get soup there. Soup was relatively safe.

After they were seated, they gossiped for a while about Sweets and Daisy, the changes that had come over Clark, and Cam's relationship with the gynecologist. Eventually, Angela fell silent, then spoke carefully, "Have you spoken to Max lately?"

"Not really. Not since the first night." She had told Angela about Max coming to her home after the trial; she'd left out the part about the hole he punched in the wall. "He has attempted to initiate conversation on several occasions, but I've been too busy to talk."

Angela nodded. "I have a confession."

Her tone got Brennan's attention. "What kind of confession?"

"The other night, when I told everyone I needed to stay late to help out the Restoration Department? That was a lie. I was waiting for Max."

"Why?"

"I needed to yell at him."

"Ang-"

"No. I _needed_ to. Sweetie, we went to bat for him- all of us. We welcomed him, we pushed _you_ to welcome him...he let us all down. God, Bren, you were almost killed. You were almost taken from us, and it was _his_ fault. He lied, and then he comes back to work...to _our_ place, and he just steps back into his life, as if nothing ever happened when something _really big _ happened. It isn't fair."

"What did you say to him?"

"Well, all of that...to start."

"What else?"

"I told him that had it been up to me, had I had any power in the situation, I would have made the trade those racist freaks demanded. I would have given him up in a heartbeat for you. I told him that no one trusted him. I told him to stay away from you. I told him that if he ever lied or put you in danger again, I'd see him dead. I meant it."

She didn't know what to say.

"Are you angry with me?"

Brennan swallowed back tears for the second time that day. "No. I'm not mad. I don't know how to handle Max, so I just...haven't. I'm just sorry for all of this. You shouldn't be getting so upset right now, and-"

"We don't have to talk about it anymore. I just wanted you to know that if you never want to talk to Max again, I'd fully support that. I know sometimes I tend to lecture you about giving people a chance and all of that, but...mostly, I just wanted you to know that I'm on your side."

"Thanks, Angela. You're a good friend."

"So are you Bren. The best."

They left the restaurant and entered a shop.

The little bell above the door jangled as they walked in, and Brennan stopped. _Whatever is mentionable is manageable. _She needed what had happened to her to become manageable. And Angela was on her side. She had just said so.

She grabbed her friend's arm, and when Angela turned around looking startled, she blurted out, "It was awful." Angela didn't look away, so she continued, "Being abducted, being held underground...it was awful. The men, they would knock on the door all the time. Sometimes, they'd come down, but sometimes they'd just knock. For no reason. They were awful. It was all awful."

She didn't know what she had expected from Angela- tears probably- but it wasn't what she got. Angela looked back her calmly. She took her hand, squeezed it. "Do you want to go somewhere and tell me more?"

It surprised her, Angela's composure. It relaxed her. Her friend was on her side. Her friend could be counted on. "No, not today."

Angela held her gaze for a beat longer. "But maybe another time?" She smiled at Brennan's small nod, and they continued into the shop. "You know, Sweetie, I had planned to take you to Paris to live once you came back."

Brennan thought back to the airport and Angela's confusing statements. "I remember that. It disoriented me, I thought maybe I was hallucinating. Why were we going to Paris?"

"I wanted to keep you safe- get you away from here. I was going to let Cam come too...and Sweets and Clark."

She laughed at her friend's well-thought-out fantasy. "What about Booth?"

Angela looked a little sheepish. "He was going to have to stay in D.C. I was mad at him."

"Why?"

"He wasn't finding you fast enough."

"Angela-"

"I know. I was wrong, I know. For what it's worth, if I were still planning to move everyone to Paris, I'd let Booth come too."

"You should probably tell him that. Although I suspect he would decline the invitation, it would show him that you don't blame him anymore. He takes blame very seriously."

"Don't worry, I'll tell him that the City of Lights awaits."

"Wait, we're not actually moving to Paris, right?"

Angela laughed. "Nope. Unless you get kidnapped again, then all bets are off- Sweets better start brushing up on his French."

oOo

Five hours later, she returned home with armloads of bags. She was frightened by the size she had to purchase. She'd never been so small. Still, she had been able to find plenty of clothes in her size. Well, Angela had mostly found them while she parked herself in the dressing room and tried on clothes as they came to her.

At one point, she had rejected a dress that Angela loved. That had gotten a little tricky. Her friend had wanted to come into the dressing room with her, see it for herself. Brennan had rejected the dress because it was too low cut- you could see the edge of one of the bite marks on her breast. Thankfully, Angela had given in, and a crisis had been averted. The remainder of the trip had been pleasant.

She had reintroduced the topic of Angela's baby shower. She was determined to host it, even though Angela seemed reluctant to let her take it on. Eventually, she'd agreed to allow her to hold it after the New Year. That was months away. Surely she'd be able to manage by then.

She sat the bags in her bedroom and put on one of her new outfits. She went to the mirror and closely examined her new clothes and hair. She still didn't see the woman she had been before. Her reflection was still that of a stranger...but a well-put-together stranger. It would be enough for a start.


	44. Exit, Stage Left

**Chapter 44: Exit, Stage Left.**

When he opened the door upon his return from an extended training in Quantico and saw the small pile of packed suitcases, his only thought was that he couldn't believe it hadn't happened sooner. He stepped into the front room, and there was Hannah, hands folded, waiting for him.

"Hey, Seeley."

"Hey, Hannah." He took a seat across from her, mimicking her posture.

"We never had that talk you promised me when we left the airport." It was true. After that night, he and Hannah, they'd each established routines and patterns that didn't include the other. He'd work late; she'd go in early. They'd go for days at a time without seeing each other, and when they did, they'd typically park themselves in front of the television, silently watching sports or a movie. They'd exchange a few jokes, or stories from their days. They'd rarely go to bed at the same time, and when they did, they kept to their own sides. She'd never brought up the kidnapping again, and neither had he.

"There were a lot of talks we never had."

That was true too. She'd left everything to be a part of his life, and he'd refused to share it with her- the important parts, anyway.

"I'm sorry."

And that was also the truth. His efforts with Hannah hadn't been honest, and for that he was sorry.

"It wasn't just you, Seeley. Even if I hadn't stepped right into the middle of the minefield that is your relationship with Temperance, it never would have worked. You're a parent. You're settled...and I'm not a White House correspondent. It never would have been enough."

It wasn't what she meant, but what he heard was "You would have never been enough." It hurt him, even though he had no right to such feelings. She would have never been enough, either.

Still, he'd never known letting go of illusions to be a painless process.

"So, where to now? Back to Afghanistan?"

"Burma, actually." He could see the glint of excitement in her eyes.

"I thought that country was closed to foreign journalists?"

"That's the fun of it."

"Dear God, Hannah-"

She held up a hand. "Sorry, Seeley, but you don't get to be the overprotective boyfriend now. This is who I am. It's who I'll always be."

One more thing he had known all along. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place, but it was also one of the things that had doomed them from the start.

"What about the overprotective friend? Do I get to be that?"

She looked at her watch. "For twelve more hours. I'm leaving in the morning, and I've never been good at maintaining friendships. I'm sort of an out of sight, out of mind kinda girl."

He appreciated her honesty; he'd always liked that about her. "Well, then, as your friend for twelve more hours, I'm begging you to be careful in Burma. It's one of the most dangerous places on Earth. At least in Afghanistan there was a significant U.S. presence to offer you protection; that's not the case where you're going. Try to limit your risks to the ones that are necessary."

"Your advice is duly noted, and now I'd like to offer some of my own. First of all, you think entirely too highly of yourself."

He raised his eyebrows. He had thought they were going for a nice subdued parting of ways- the kind that you get to pull out of your memory anytime you need to be reminded of what a mature, evolved adult you are.

"That's...what I mean is, you take too much responsibility. I get it- you're honorable and chivalrous- but, Seeley, your power in this world is as limited as anyone else's. Stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens to the people around you. It's intimidating; it makes it difficult to be someone who cares about you."

"I-"

"I'm not finished. I'm leaving you, so you have to listen to me. The other thing you need to know, and this is tied directly to the first thing, is that Temperance is not alright."

He bristled; he didn't like Hannah talking about Bones. It was entirely unfair, but for some reason, it always felt like criticism.

"I know that's not what you want to hear, and I know I've barely interacted with her since her return. But I know women like Temperance. I _am_ a woman like Temperance. The last thing in the world I'd want is for anyone to view me as weak, but, Seeley, I've seen a lot of bad things happen to people. One thing I know for sure is that a single female being held for weeks with thirteen men-"

His eyes flashed. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing that you don't already know," she was emphatic. "Whatever she went through, it had to have changed her. You don't just immediately come back from that, no matter who you are. She's not a superhero. She's human, just like the rest of us. And she's already been damaged-"

"Hannah. Stop."

"I'm not saying this correctly. What I mean is, it can't help, the fact that whatever happened to her was connected to her father. You don't control everything, but you have a pretty powerful hold over her. Don't let her fool you. That's all I meant."

He worked his jaw, trying to get control over his emotions, trying to keep his thoughts away from what might have happened with Bones and all of those men. Just because Hannah said it, didn't make it true. Hannah didn't know his partner, not the way he did. Bones was home now, and she was safe. He would keep her safe. Besides, tonight shouldn't be about her.

"I wish...I wish we could have been..."

She shrugged, "But we are what are."

"I'll never forget what you did while we were looking for her. Without you, God knows..."

"It was a hell of a story."

"I guess that's one way to look at it."

She laughed. "It's the only way I know."

"I really will miss you."

She got up and gave him a hug. "I'll miss you too." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You'll say goodbye to Parker and everyone for me? Tell them I'm sorry it was such short notice?"

He held onto her. "Of course. If you want, I could make some phone calls...we could all do breakfast together?"

She twisted her mouth wistfully and winked, "I'll be gone before you even wake up." She stretched. "In fact, I should really get to bed. I thought I'd take Parker's room tonight?"

He nodded. "Well, then, goodbye, Hannah Burley."

She gave him a little wave as she disappeared down the hall. "Take care, Seeley Booth."


	45. Nostalgia

**Chapter 45: Nostalgia.**

Brennan arrived at the lab early, wearing a pencil skirt, a crisp button-down shirt, and a pair of heels. Her hair was perfect. She had spent much more time than usual on her make-up; she even, humiliatingly enough, had googled tips for covering dark circles. She had eaten breakfast- a real breakfast, not just a smoothie.

She was on her way to being fine, and on this Monday, she looked the part.

She went directly to her office and turned on her computer. She had an email to send.

oOo

When Booth came off the elevator and saw Sweets waiting by his office, he almost turned around and went right back home. He'd reluctantly begun thinking of the Boy Wonder as one of his closest friends, but he didn't have the energy for him this morning.

He'd had an awful night. He'd been dumped by his girlfriend which, while completely expected, still stung, and she'd managed to leave him obsessing over the state of mind of his (not technically) partner whom, if he were being honest, he had to admit he still loved.

It was confusing to say the least. Definitely not the state of mind in which one wants to run into a friend-slash-psychologist-slash-buttinsky.

At some point around 4:00 AM, he'd gone to his computer and logged on to his remote desktop. He'd pulled up the statement Bones had given in the hospital after her rescue. He poured over every word, trying to recall her body language and tone of voice as she'd given it. She had implied that she'd been mostly left alone, which, while horrifying, meant that there hadn't been excessive violence involved. She said they slapped her around a bit when she hadn't been able to give them what they wanted; that was consistent with the cuts and bruises he'd seen.

A little voice, sounding annoyingly like Hannah's, reminded him that there was a great deal he hadn't seen.

She'd most likely downplayed the physical violence. When she said they slapped her around, she probably meant that they had beaten her. His blood boiled.

Still. She had said that was only when she couldn't give them what they wanted. She had said they mostly left her alone. They kept food and water from her; they kept her in underground with no light. That was bad enough. There was no need to conjure up other forms of torture, that's what he told himself.

Of course, that hadn't stopped him. In fact, once he'd gotten back in his bed and listened to the sounds of Hannah walking away, he'd lost himself in every possible scenario. He didn't like a goddamned one of them.

So it was completely understandable that Sweets was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. Even so, he actually had quite a bit of work to do, and he was already forty-five minutes late thanks to his little game of 'What if?', so going out of his way to avoid the psychologist wasn't really an option.

Besides, the kid could outlast him. He was obnoxious like that.

"Booth, great!" Sweets greeted him like an overly-excited Labrador Retriever. "I've been waiting for you all morning."

Booth gave him a look that he hoped could be described as fearsome. "Not now Sweets. It hasn't been a good morning."

"Well, I think I might have a remedy for that-"

"No, no, no, no. No. No. No shrink tricks."

When it was clear Sweets wasn't prepared to back off, Booth leaned in close.

"Look, Hannah and I broke up last night. She's gone to freaking Burma, and I'm tired and not in the mood to talk about it. How about you cut me a break, just this once?"

Sweets broke into a huge grin.

"Are you...Sweets, are you _smiling_? I just tell you that my girlfriend left me for a country ruled by a military junta, and that makes you _happy_?"

The psychologist quickly rearranged his expression. "I'm sorry, Agent Booth. I know the break-up must be quite a blow. Of course I'm not happy about it, and I'm here if you would like to-"

"Sweets, what did I just say? No shrink stuff."

"Actually, what you said was 'No shrink tricks,' and since I have no idea-"

"Sweets! Take a hint! Go away. Let me get into my office."

"I think you want to hear my news, Agent Booth. I think it might turn your entire day around."

"Fine." He threw up his hands. "Tell me all about it. Did you score free tickets to that movie about the aliens that come to Earth in the meteors? Are you saving up for a trip to Comic Con? Are they making another Star Wars? What?"

"You are being quite aggressive today."

"Sweets!"

"Fine, but you're going to feel pretty bad once I tell you what's in this email I printed out."

"What's in the email, Sweets?"

The grin was back. "A request from Dr. Brennan for an appointment so that she can begin the process of being reinstated to field work."

Sweets was dangling the printout in front of him, so Booth snatched it out of his hand and headed back toward the elevator. He had it- proof that he hadn't lost her completely.

Somewhere in the background, he could hear Sweets calling, "Hey...What...Okay, well, tell her that I'll see you both tomorrow at 8:00!"

oOo

She had work to do in Bone Storage, but she kept sneaking back to her office to check her email. She still hadn't received a reply from Sweets, and she was getting concerned. She wondered if it was possible that word had gotten around about her fainting spell...or if maybe he had talked to Booth, and Booth had said he didn't want her back.

She stood slowly to return to her bones when the Agent in question burst through her door, grinning from ear to ear.

She met his gaze. "Can I help you?"

He walked toward her, waving a piece of paper around. "You want to continue our partnership?"

He seemed so genuinely thrilled, that she couldn't help smiling back at him. "I believe I was quite clear in the email."

"This...this makes me really happy, Bones."

It made her happy too. Maybe all she had needed was a start. Maybe she really could just have her old life back. "Is that why you came all the way over here in the middle of the work day? Just to tell me you're happy?" She teased Booth, just the way she always had.

But nothing would erase the smile on his face. Finally, things were starting to feel right again. "Yep. Well, and to tell you that Sweets will see us at 8:00 tomorrow."

"The way things used to be."

"That's right, Bones." He winked as he turned to go. "Exactly like the way things used to be."


	46. So Many Beginnings

**Author's Note:** This site has been acting hinky, and I'm sorry about that. It looks like some of you got notifications for Chapter 45 before getting a notification for Chapter 44? Yikes. Also, I'm going on vacation...and this story is going with me. In other words, it will be about a week and a half before another chapter is posted. And in case there are any creepers out there, someone will be staying at my house while we're away.

**Chapter 46: So Many Beginnings.**

At some point she really did need to tell Sweets that he should work on his professional demeanor. She eyed him critically- his smile was huge, his cheeks were flushed. She was embarrassed for him. She was also flattered that he was so obviously excited to be meeting with them again, but still...he should really try to tone it down. At the very least, he should try to control the blushing. She knew how desperately he wanted to be taken seriously.

"Dr. Sweets, perhaps you should try smiling with your mouth closed."

"Huh?"

"And you really shouldn't say 'huh' in a session. Maybe you could consider using 'excuse me' instead."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes. You see- that sounds much more professional." She turned to Booth to make sure he agreed, and he gave her a thumbs-up.

"What is-"

Booth was sitting beside her, jiggling his legs. Like before. "Maybe we should just get started, Sweets."

"Yes. Good idea. Okay, well it's good to have you guys back. Now, as you know, this office is a safe place-"

"Yeah, yeah, cone of truth, we remember all that stuff. Just, get to the good part, kid."

Brennan put her hand on Booth's arm and leaned over to whisper, "You probably shouldn't call him 'kid.' It undermines him professionally, and he's never going to-"

"Guys, I will have you know that...," Sweets pointed at them, "Oh, I see. I know what you're doing here. You guys are reverting back to old patterns in an attempt to-"

"Yep! You got us, Sweets. Now, can we just move on?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes in confusion and whispered again, "What is he talking about?"

"Who knows, Bones." He turned back to the psychologist, "Come on, do your thing."

"Okay, well, first I suppose it bears repeating that when we're in a small space like this, I can hear you...even when you whisper."

"Sweets!"

"Fine. We'll get to the good part." He turned to Brennan. "So why don't we start by having you tell us why you've decided to return to field work."

She had been here before. She knew Sweets; she understood what he wanted from her. She had planned for this- practiced her answers. She had warned them that her learning curve was steep.

"When I returned to D.C., I thought it best to take my time settling back into my normal life. Between Maluku and my abduction, I had been a way from the lab for a significant amount of time. My first responsibility had to be to the Jeffersonian and to getting things back in order there. I was also concerned that there might be some lingering effects from the trauma of my abduction and that my presence might prove distracting for Booth- he tends to become overly protective following a crisis. However, a month has now passed, and I feel ready to move on. Booth has been able to see that I'm recovering well, and I think it's time to fully resume my work with the FBI."

Sweets did that thing where he goes quiet for a while and stares. She stared right back at him.

"Well, Dr. Brennan, you were smart to take it slowly. Knowing you as I do, I was concerned you would try to jump right back into your old routines without acknowledging what you had been through. I'm impressed."

She felt the familiar rush that always accompanied a correct answer.

"Of course, a month is really not a long time to fully process a long-term abduction. Have you experienced any effects of trauma since your return- sleep disturbances, hyper-vigilance, depression?

She knew this one too. "There have been nightmares, as you might expect, but I'm usually able to go back to sleep after I wake up."

"Can you describe these nightmares?"

She couldn't. She didn't actually have any...but she knew that Sweets would expect them. "I don't always remember them. I just wake up feeling afraid, and I know that it was a nightmare."

"How often are you experiencing these bad dreams?"

An easy one. "When I first got back, every night. After a week or so, they began decreasing in frequency. Now, I only have them a time or two a week."

If he was skeptical, he didn't show it. "That they're decreasing in frequency is a good sign. What do you do when you wake up afraid?"

She could feel Booth shifting uncomfortably beside her; he'd always hated therapy. "Nothing. I remind myself that it was just a dream. I go back to sleep."

"And it's that easy?"

She was losing him. "Yes. For me, it has been that easy."

"Okay, Dr. Brennan. Has there been anything besides the nightmares?"

She knew how to get him back. "While I was being held, I was not fed regularly. Now, sometimes, I find it difficult to eat."

"You gotta eat, Bones," Booth sounded worried. "You can't skip meals."

"Actually, Booth," Sweets broke in, "what Dr. Brennan describes is normal. It's understandable that she might need to work her way up to her typical eating habits." He turned to Brennan, "Can you tell me what you mean when you say you find it difficult to eat?"

She had to tread carefully here. "Sometimes, I'm just not hungry. Other times, I eat something, but it just doesn't taste the way it used to. I might have trouble finishing it, or keeping it down."

Sweets was nodding. "Okay, well, that's probably something we'll want to monitor. You might want to follow-up with your PCP just to make sure there's not a physical cause. I'd also suggest talking to a nutritionist- perhaps they could help you come up with a plan to increase your appetite."

"Those are good ideas, Dr. Sweets. I had worked with a nutritionist before I left the hospital in Virginia. Maybe that's something I should do again."

"Okay, is there anything else?"

"No."

She heard Booth's small intake of air. So did Sweets.

"Agent Booth, is there anything you observed that you'd like to discuss?"

She studied her partner. He looked nervous. She'd been careful to remain composed in front of him. What could he have seen?

He met her gaze, and she could tell that, whatever it was, he wouldn't betray her.

"Nope," Booth shook his head. "Bones has been...Bones. At least when she's with me."

"And have the two of you been spending much time together?"

She felt Booth shifting again. "The normal amount. We're friends. We've spent the normal amount of time together for friends."

"Okay." Sweets turned back to her; he didn't seem willing to push Booth today. "Let's talk about your physical condition, Dr. Brennan. I hear you sustained no long-term injuries during your abduction and captivity."

"That is correct."

"Good, that's good. Of course, certain field situations will require you to be in excellent physical shape. You said you've had trouble eating- I imagine that leaves you feeling weak. Have you been exercising?"

Here she could be completely honest. "Not the way I used to. I've been walking, doing yoga. I'm working my way back up to my normal exercise routine. I realize that I would need to re-enter the field on a somewhat limited basis at first."

He smiled at her- another right answer.

"Alright. It sounds like you've got really realistic expectations. Maybe we could move on to talking about your feelings regarding your father's connection to the kidnapping."

It was okay. She was ready for this one too.

But Booth wasn't. He stood abruptly. "I think that's enough for today." He was agitated. "Bones, don't you think that's enough for today? I mean, we're coming up on an hour."

"Okay," she stood too, "it's enough for today." She'd been ready to say more, but she wasn't sorry for Booth's interruption. Giving rehearsed answers and half-truths didn't come easily for her. She was keeping secrets; she still felt she had to do it, but she didn't like it. Sometimes it made her wonder if this wasn't a good start, if maybe this was what the beginning of insanity felt like.

"Sure. We can stop for now- follow Dr. Brennan's lead and take things slowly. We'll talk more next week."

Booth, in typical fashion, was racing for the door when Sweets called out, "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I forgot to ask how you're doing with the whole break-up thing."

She narrowed her eyes. "What break-up thing?"

Sweets had said something wrong; she could tell by the way Booth was looking at him. When her partner left the room, she followed.

"Booth? Booth? What break-up thing?"

He turned to face her, raking his hand through his hair. "Hannah. Hannah and I broke up over the weekend. She took a new job. In Burma."

"Burma? Wow."

He gave a short laugh. "Yeah. She must have really wanted to get away with me."

"I am sure that isn't true." She let the news sink in. "This happened over the weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything to me before?"

"It didn't come up."

"Well, would you like to talk about it now?"

"Nah. So, I thought the session went well, didn't you?"

She didn't like it when he did this. "Why are you changing the subject? Booth, this is a big deal. I know that you had been hoping Hannah would be the-"

"Bones. Come on. We don't need to talk about this."

"But-" And then it hit her. "You told Sweets we were friends."

"We _are_ friends."

"Friends talk about significant events in each other's lives. You'd obviously talked to Sweets."

"Bones-"

"I can do this, Booth. I can be normal." She needed him to believe her.

And he had always known what she needed. "Okay, Bones. You want to talk about my sorry love life, we'll talk. Over lunch."

oOo

They chose the Founding Fathers, because their first day back to (sort of) normal seemed deserving of food a bit nicer than the diner had to offer. They sat across from each other, like always. Neither knew how to start- that part wasn't like always, but it had become part of their new normal, so neither fought it too hard.

Bones had insisted back at the Hoover that she wanted to talk about his break-up. He knew her, and he knew that she wasn't saying anything because she assumed that she shouldn't have to ask twice.

But he didn't want to talk about Hannah, and it wasn't because he thought Bones couldn't be normal. He didn't want to talk about Hannah, because he didn't want to talk about anything. He wasn't very proud of his performance in Sweets' office. Bones had seemed okay with all the talking, but he had rushed them out. When he was doing it, he thought it was for her, but it had hit him during their walk to the restaurant that he had done it for himself. Because he was afraid- afraid to hear all that Cam had to say, afraid to take Hannah's warning seriously, afraid to read between the lines of the official reports.

He was afraid of his partner's story, and it was shameful. He had no right to that fear, not if he wanted the right to hold a significant place in her life. He loved her, and he had to let her know that he, too, could be normal. He had to let her know that he, too, could do this.

From this moment on, he would talk with her about anything she wanted. He had to start somewhere, and Bones wanted him to start with Hannah.

"It's not the best thing that ever happened to me," he found himself saying honestly, "but it's far from the worst."

"You must have been disappointed." She was speaking carefully, and he wondered when Bones had become careful with her words. "I know you loved her."

"I loved her. But not really in the way I wanted to love her. She didn't love me that way either. It wasn't the kind of love that lasts."

She was silent for a moment, thinking over what he had said...because she was always careful with other people's words. "So, you contend that there are loves that last, and others that are more ephemeral."

He couldn't help grinning at that. "Yeah, Bones. That's what I contend."

"But you can't tell the difference until it's too late."

He shook his head. "Not true. You can tell. I can tell. With Hannah, I could tell from the start."

He could see her struggling with that. "Then, why? If you could tell it wouldn't last, why do it at all?"

"Because love is nice, even the ephemeral kind. If I couldn't have the lasting kind, then I'd take the other while I could."

He knew by the way her head scrunched and her eyes dropped that she understood exactly what he meant, and _God_, he hoped it didn't feel like an accusation.

Eventually her eyes raised, and she spoke. "I hope...I want you to have the kind of love that lasts. I really do."

He wanted that too, and he realized that this conversation about Hannah had little to do with Hannah at all. "I'm sorry, Bones. For the way things were when we first got back. I could've done better."

At first he thought she was going to brush him off, but then she said, "I'm sorry too, Booth. For the way things were before we left. I also could have done better."

"From now on, we'll both do better." It was a promise. It was a start.


	47. Minefields

**Author's Note: **Vacation isn't quite over yet, but I thought I could go ahead and get back on schedule with this story. A huge thanks to Amilyn, the best beta ever.

**Chapter 47: Minefields.**

There was something wrong with her brain. She needed to move. She needed to run. Booth needed her to run. But her brain would not transmit the signal to her legs- it was too busy weighing the risks. If she ran with Booth, around the right side of the building, it was possible they wouldn't catch the suspect. He might get away. He might have time to hurt someone else before they caught him again. If she ran in the opposite direction of Booth, around the left side of the building, she might be able to trap the suspect.

But what if the suspect continued to run in a straight line, making her attempt at a trap useless? What if she lost sight of Booth, and he needed her help, and she wasn't there to notice? What if she ran, and she chose incorrectly? So her brain, afraid of her judgement, refused to let her move...kept her right where she was. For an instant. It felt like forever, and it terrified her, but it was only for an instant.

Everything must have started working again, because suddenly she was running to the left, and their suspect wasn't very smart, because he was circling the building. He didn't expect her, so when he saw her, he stumbled- briefly- before he started running again, trying to make his way to a side alley. But that stumble, it was enough. She caught up to him, tripped him. And then Booth was there, slapping on handcuffs. And that was that. It was over.

It was done. And everything had turned out fine.

oOo

He cast a worried glance at his partner as she raced into the diner to escape the cold. He followed close behind and took his usual seat across from her.

They were back. For all intents and purposes, they were back. Professionally, they had been working together as partners again for nearly six weeks. They'd caught two murderers in that time; Hacker had just sent an email that morning congratulating them on their solve rate. They continued to meet with Sweets weekly, and Bones had been extremely cooperative.

That was what made him uneasy. "Cooperative" wasn't usually the word he chose to describe his partner. He hadn't said anything, but he'd become more alert.

Socially, they were pretty much back where they'd been before the kidnapping, before Hannah, before the split...before his gamble. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that, but it seemed selfish to be worried about his heart, when just a few short months ago, he'd been worried about his partner's life.

Ever since they'd gone to lunch to commiserate over his break-up with Hannah, they'd eaten nearly every meal together. She'd put weight back on; that was good.

But...but. Something didn't feel right. Sometimes, when he'd look at her, he could tell that she wasn't really there. Sometimes, when she'd look at him, he could tell that she was...scared. He'd try to talk to her about it, but she'd act so damn cheerful.

Bones was not supposed to be cheerful. It felt like an act.

Bones was not supposed to be an actress.

"Intense morning, huh?"

Brennan looked up from her menu; he could never understand why she had to read it every time- she always ordered the same thing. "I suppose."

"Didn't expect that guy to have his weapons cache at his grandma's. Place looked like an armory."

"I find myself surprised that these things still surprise you." She went back to her menu.

He took a deep breath. "Bones, was everything okay back there?"

She lowered her menu again and stared at him with that expression that always made him feel like a traitor.

He spoke quickly. "I just noticed that when our guy tipped over that bookcase, you seemed to freeze up...and then there was the chase, and we caught him, but afterward...I don't know, you seem to disappear on me."

"I was right there, Booth."

"You know that's not what I mean, Bones. You start shaking sometimes. Which is completely understandable," he hurried to add, "I remember what Sweets said about hyper-vigilance, and I...if you need more time..."

"Do you not want me out in the field with you?"

It was the verbal equivalent of the look she had given him before, and it nearly killed him. And how was he supposed to answer that? Of course he wanted her out in the field with him...but he was also terrified to have her out there.

"_Don't let her fool you."_

He hadn't been able to put Hannah's warning behind him as easily as he had the woman herself.

"Of course I want you out there with me. We're a team. I just don't want you to feel like you have to gloss over anything that bothers you. If we're going to be partners, we have to be completely honest with each other."

Panic. He was positive that was the emotion that flashed in her eyes. That had to mean something, but damned if he knew how to navigate it.

"Do you feel like I'm putting you in danger somehow?"

"What? Of course not." He could tell this conversation was going off the rails. "I just worry about you sometimes. You're my best friend, and with everything that happened...we never talk about it. I mean, unless we're with Sweets, but that gets weird, because it's in the context of all this work stuff, and-"

He could see her bristle.

"Why can't it be enough for you that I'm okay? I feel like you need me to fall apart, like you're watching me, waiting for it. That's not who I am, Booth. If having me as a partner is distracting you, then tell me. If not, then let it go. Why can't you just let things be?"

"Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to upset you, I really don't. But I also don't want to pretend-"

"Tempe, Booth. It's nice to run into you two."

_Fuck. _Max Keenan. The last person in the world he wanted to see.

From the look on Bones' face, she felt the same way. At least they could agree on something.

"Max," he ground out his greeting through gritted teeth.

Max flashed him an insincere smile, then turned to his daughter. "How are you doing honey? You look like you've gained weight. You look good."

"I am good."

She was doing it again. That blank look, the one that terrified him, was plastered on her face. She was speaking to Max as if nothing were wrong, and as far as he knew, she had never confronted him about his lies and their consequences. It was only the recollection of her reaction to his last encounter with her father that kept his mouth shut.

"That's my girl. Tough as nails, my Tempe."

One day, he was going to get to hit Max Keenan. He looked forward to it.

Brennan just gave her father a bland smile.

"It's been a long time since we've spoken, honey. I feel like we never get to see each other anymore."

"I've been very busy. I've had a great deal to catch up on, leaving me with little time for socializing. I'm sure the same can be said of you."

Max nodded. "Of course...but family shouldn't lose touch. Thanksgiving is coming up soon. What are your plans?"

"I haven't made any."

Wrong move, Bones.

"Well, I was thinking, this is an important holiday. You're back with us, safe and sound. Hayley is recovering. Our family has a lot to be thankful for. Don't you think we should celebrate together? Maybe we could do a big dinner at your place, like we did last Christmas- the whole family. I could make the turkey. You could invite everyone from the lab too. It would be nice."

Tell him no, Bones. Tell him to go fuck himself.

And she wanted to; he could see it in the way she worked her jaw.

"It could be a celebration of putting the past behind us, once and for all. It could mark a return to normalcy."

That's what did it. "Normalcy." It wasn't even a real fucking word, but it turned her around.

"Okay, Dad. I'll work on it."

"Great," Max slapped a hand on the table and stood, "well, I'll leave the two of you to your lunch. We'll talk later Tempe!"

Booth watched him go. "You don't have to host Thanksgiving if you don't want to, Bones."

"I don't need you to tell me what I do and don't have to do, Booth."

She looked ready for a fight, but he wasn't about to go there. He waved his napkin in surrender, evoking the smile he was looking for. "Fine. Put me down for rolls."


	48. Limits, We All Have 'Em

**Chapter 48: Limits, We All Have 'Em.**

She pushed her cart through the throngs of shoppers gathering last-minute groceries two days before Thanksgiving. She shouldn't have agreed to this. She had taken the day off work in order to look for brussels sprouts and cranberries. It was maddening.

But at least it was her own fault. There was some small comfort in that.

Max had offered her the opportunity to prove she wasn't broken- a chance to end the worried glances and hushed whispers that still followed her from time to time. A chance to rid Booth of any lingering doubts.

How could she have refused?

She could now concede that in the beginning, she had been putting on something of a show. Her attempts to compartmentalize and move on hadn't worked...at first. Now, though, she was getting better. She slept in her bed, with the lights off. She ate. She worked. She went out in the field, and when she froze up, she pushed through it. She was coping with last August. She was coping with it successfully.

No, she didn't talk about it, but there were plenty of cultures around the world that didn't believe rehashing the past was the only way to move through it. There were other ways.

And she had stopped viewing her decision to not disclose the details of her captivity as proof that she had become a liar. She was choosing not to tell a story; it was her choice to make. At first, her secret had weighed her down- now she was able to pick it up and carry it with her.

She was becoming quite adept at metaphorical thinking. Angela would be proud.

So would Booth, she admitted grudgingly.

She had just checked out when she heard her cell ringing over the din of voices and generic holiday music that were the trademarks of grocery stores this time of year.

"Brennan."

"Bones, it's me. I hate to do this, but I really need your help."

She was instantly on alert. "What's wrong?"

"You're off today, right?"

"Yes, Booth," she rushed out of the store in order to hear him more clearly. "Now tell me what's wrong."

He must have heard the edge in her voice, because his words quickly took on a reassuring tone. "No, it's nothing bad. It's just that today is a half-day of school, and Rebecca was supposed to get Parker. I've been stuck in a meeting, and I missed her text letting me know that she got held up at work. Bones, is there anyway you could get him for me? You're on the list of people allowed to pick him up."

"Of course. I'll go right now."

"Thanks. I owe you."

oOo

When she pulled up to the school, it was quiet. The only people in sight were Parker and a teacher who must have been waiting with him.

Parker had always struck her as the kind of child who would always be fine. He smiled a lot. He was active. He had a lot of friends. When she saw him outside that school, though, he looked vulnerable.

His knees were pulled up to his chest. His head was down. He wasn't smiling. He looked smaller than she remembered.

And then it happened.

It's the small things that break us- rarely the things you'd expect. In her case, it should have been work...a case that hit too close to home, bones that showed abuse too familiar. But that wasn't what happened at all. In the end, it was the sight of a little boy on the steps, worrying that he might have been forgotten. That's what did it.

She walked toward him, and the ache in her chest was overpowering. He was sitting there, waiting for parents who weren't coming...waiting to go home.

She knew how it felt to be powerless to do anything other than wait.

"Dr. Brennan! Did my dad send you?" Parker was smiling again, running toward her and waving to his teacher.

He was happy again, the same old Parker.

But something had cracked inside of her.

oOo

Hours after she met Rebecca to drop off Parker, she couldn't stop thinking about him sitting there with his head down. She couldn't shake off the pain it caused.

Her phone rang, and she rolled her eyes when she saw the name on the screen. She sat it down and opened the door.

"Booth, it's been months. Knock."

He grinned. "I like to call. Hey, I wanted to thank you for bailing me out with Parker earlier. I really appreciate... Bones? Is everything okay?"

"You know he was the only child remaining at school. It was just him and a teacher."

Booth looked confused. "Yeah, I knew it was late. I had-"

"All of the other kids were gone. He was left sitting there all alone."

"I thought you said a teacher was with him?"

"That's not the point, Booth! What was Rebecca doing that was so important that she couldn't be bothered to pick up her child?"

"Bones?"

"And what were you doing that you couldn't check your phone?"

"Bones, I talked to Parker. He's okay."

His voice was gentle, and suddenly she was more angry at him than she had ever been at anyone in her life.

"This time! _This_ time he was okay, but he might not always be! How could you leave him there waiting for you? How could you tell him you were coming when you _weren't_?"

He just stood there with his mouth open. He had nothing to say, so she kept shouting.

"You were being careless with your child! You lied to him. You _lied_ to him, Booth. You weren't there when you were supposed to be there-"

"Bones," his voice stayed soft, "No one lied to Parker on purpose."

"It doesn't matter if it was on purpose!"

"It was just a mistake. Parents make mistakes sometimes, and it turned out okay."

"It doesn't always turn out okay." She knew that he knew that they were no longer talking about Parker. She didn't care anymore.

"I know." He nodded. "I know it doesn't."

She was trying to choke back sobs when he started walking toward her. He wrapped his arms around her in a way he probably thought would comfort her.

It was the wrong thing to do.

She pushed him away, but he must have assumed it was one of those times he needed to just keep holding her until she was able to accept his help.

She didn't see her partner anymore. She saw a man who wouldn't stop touching her, even when she tried to make him.

The familiar sensation of being suffocated came over her, and every nerve in her body was demanding that she fight.

She pushed him, hard, sent him stumbling backwards. He looked up at her, and she realized her mistake.

"Bones-"

But she was through being comforted, and she was definitely through being touched. "Go, Booth. I'm sorry...I overreacted." She had to pull it together quickly. "I'm sorry I said you were careless with Parker."

"I'm not worried about that-"

"There's nothing else to worry about. I'm just...stressed about having to get all of this ready for Thursday. There's still a lot I need to accomplish at the lab, and I had to take today off, and I'm just on edge...I'm sorry. I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow with Sweets."

"Bones-"

"I'll see you tomorrow."


	49. Calculations

**Chapter 49: Calculations.**

She was twisting her bracelet over and over. Booth was staring at the floor, bouncing his foot. Sweets was tapping his pen.

They could have easily gone on that way for the entire hour.

"I became quite upset with Booth yesterday."

Two sets of surprised eyes turned toward her. She was not usually one to ruin a good stalemate.

"Why?"

"He left Parker at school."

"That's not exactly the way it happened, Sweets. Rebecca got tied up at work, and she texted me to pick him up, but I missed the text. I called Bones and asked her to pick up Parker for me."

Sweets looked from one partner to the other. "And that upset you, Dr. Brennan? Did you feel it was an imposition on your time?"

"No! I...I accused Booth of being careless with his son."

Booth held a folder over his face and leaned over to her to whisper, "Bones, we talked about this last night. No need to bring it up now."

"I thought if I brought up an argument he might get excited and let us out early."

Sweets waved his arms. "Right here people...and I think we already talked about the whispering. I can still hear you."

Booth dropped the folder. "Fine. Look, it's the day before Thanksgiving. We've all got a lot to do. Why don't we just...reconvene after the holiday."

"Actually, Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan brought up the argument between the two of you, and I think that's significant. Let's explore that."

"Oh God." Booth leaned his head back in defeat. "It wasn't even an argument."

"That is accurate," she felt she should break in, "Booth didn't really fight back."

"Dr. Brennan, why did you accuse Agent Booth of being careless with his child?"

"I already told you, because he left him at school."

"Right. And Agent Booth said that was an accident."

She nodded.

"Do you feel that Agent Booth displays a pattern of careless behavior toward Parker?"

"No," she felt a pang in her chest at the very idea of accusing Booth of being a bad father. She looked at her partner. "I didn't mean that. I know you're a good father."

Booth squeezed her hand. "I know, Bones. It's okay. Sweets, could you just get to wherever you're going with this?"

"Fine. Dr. Brennan, so you think it's possible that you projected some of your anger toward your own father on to a safer subject, namely Agent Booth?"

She probably had. She'd lost control. She'd screamed at her partner, shoved him. She had been _so angry_ at him- over nothing. He'd been good to her, and she'd attacked his parenting. She went for the one thing she knew would really hurt him. Booth seemed to have seen right through it, but when had she become someone who attacked without provocation? Most of the time, she was fine, but sometimes...

Sometimes.

Sometimes she would be completely overtaken by some emotion- fear, rage, sadness. She had no control over it. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before, and it frightened her.

The two men were waiting for her to speak.

She could tell them about the tidal waves of feelings, against which she had no defense. She could tell them about those moments during which she didn't even feel attached to her own body, during which she felt completely powerless. She could tell how it upset her that her father seemed so eager to drop the topic of her abduction after the night he punched a hole in her wall. She could tell them how much she wanted to move on, yet how it hurt her that Max seemed so willing to do so. She could tell them how difficult it was for her, dealing with such contradictory feelings all the time. She could tell them how much it scared her, how she wasn't used to a constant barrage of emotions.

She respected both of them. She trusted both of them. They would want to help her. They might even succeed.

But she didn't trust herself. If she started talking, she might never stop. She might tell all of the stories she'd decided to never tell. They'd see her differently. They'd be upset and over-solicitous, and it would destroy her.

She couldn't control anything, other than her stories. She couldn't give that up.

So she didn't answer Sweets. She spoke to her partner instead. "I'm sorry Booth." She hoped it was enough.

"There's no reason to apologize, Bones. You and me? We're good."

And that was all she wanted. It was all that mattered. She relaxed in her chair.

"Dr. Brennan, are you sure you want to do the whole big Thanksgiving thing tomorrow?" He crossed to the other side of his desk. "I'm not asking as the FBI psychologist. I'm asking as your friend."

She didn't want to. She didn't want to at all. She could say that to them, right? They would take her side, wouldn't they?

They would, she decided. They would take her side. But then they would also point out that she and her father her were on opposite sides, which was something else she would have to think about and work through and address. Usually, she preferred confronting things directly, in a straightforward manner. It was one of the things about her that was different now.

So, she didn't want to host Thanksgiving. But she didn't want to confront her father more. She recognized her options. She made a choice.

"Sweets, if you don't want to come over, you can just say so." She made an attempt at humor. It was often a successful method of diverting the conversation away from unpleasant topics. Of course, it had been Booth and Sweets who had taught her that, so she wasn't sure it would be particularly helpful here.

"I assure you, Dr. Brennan, I wouldn't miss that dinner for the world. I just..."

"It will be fine, Sweets. It's just one night."


	50. Without Warning

**Author's Note: **So two apologies, one for not responding to reviews (again!). That's happened way too many times, but my week kind of went of the rails. Which brings me to apology number two. Sorry for posting this so late in the day (I like to get chapters up early). It was decided that a girls' night was the answer to my wonky week. Yeah, I got to bed at 4:00 AM. My usual bedtime? 9:30. So, yeah. As always, thanks for reading (and reviewing, those that do!) and thanks to Amilyn for betaing- you're the best.

**Chapter 50: Without Warning.**

"You know how it feels right before you have a complete breakdown? When, like, there's all this emotion building and building, but you're not quite ready to give in to it, so you start laughing too hard, or getting weepy at the slightest thing...like a build-up to the main event?"

"Yep," Cam took a sip from her wine glass and joined Angela in surveying the room.

"Don't you think that would be a pretty accurate description for the tone of this gathering?"

Cam took note of the way Brennan kept flying between the kitchen and her guests- taking coats, checking ovens, never stopping. She was the hostess, but it was clear Max was running the show. He was talking too loudly, making too many jokes- forcing a party. Booth was pretending to be engaged in conversation with Hodgins and Sweets, but was really shooting death glares at Max. Daisy, Amy and Michelle were fussing over Emma and Hayley, trying too hard to pretend none of this was weird. And Russ was standing alone by the kitchen door, trying to catch his sister's attention while avoiding Booth's scorn and his father's attempts at bonding.

"Yep."

Angela tilted her head. "Okay. Just making sure it wasn't just me."

"Oh, no," Cam spoke through a forced smile, "It's painful." She held up her glass to clink against Angela's sparkling cider. "Happy Thanksgiving."

oOo

She once again dismissed Amy's offer to help carry the food to the table, carefully placed Booth's rolls in a basket, then stepped back to take in her work. There was stuffing and cranberry sauce and brussels sprouts and green bean casserole. There was a turkey she had roasted perfectly, even though she'd always hated the taste of turkey- even before she'd given up meat altogether. It was dry and bland; why did everyone continue to pretend they enjoyed it? Why did they insist on building entire holidays around it? There was a pumpkin pie, even though she didn't like pie crust...even though she didn't like her fruit cooked. Though, she reminded herself, pumpkin wasn't a fruit. Everyone expected turkey and pumpkin pie. She had provided beautiful examples of both. It was perfect.

Her careful assessment of all her hard work was interrupted by her father calling everyone to the table. When he stepped up to carve the turkey, she stepped aside. When he gave a speech on blessings and expressed his gratitude that they were all safe and sound and together, she met his eyes, and she smiled, and she bit her tongue. Literally.

When Angela coughed to cover up saying something that sounded like "jackass" and Booth gripped his wine glass so hard she thought he might break it, she ignored them. When everyone began to eat and compliment her on a job well-done, she thanked them. That last part was sincere, and she wondered at how odd it felt to say something she actually meant on this day.

The last time she'd hosted a holiday meal, it had taken nearly two hours to get to dessert. Everyone had talked and laughed and snuck bites between conversation. This time, she felt as though she'd barely sat down before it was time to get up again, clear the plates away. This time, small bursts of conversation were snuck in between bites. She took no offense. A swift end to the day was a mercy she'd willingly accept.

Everyone wanted to help; she refused them all. The kitchen was hers alone, a refuge from the dining room. She embraced her task- removing serving dishes, replacing larger plates with smaller plates. She sliced the pie with great precision- no one would receive more or less than anyone else, not today. She carried it out, placed a pretty little piece on every miniature plate. It would have been perfect.

But he insisted on a toast.

While she had been serving up sweets, Max had followed behind, refilling wine glasses. She had planned to offer coffee with dessert. Everyone over twenty-one, with the exception of Angela, had already had at least three glasses of wine. Having this meal turn into some extended wait for a designated driver would be a punishment she did not feel she deserved.

But it was really his party, and he wanted the wine to flow, and he wanted a toast.

"...So everyone raise your glass to our host, the most important person in my world, Tempe." He turned to her, and she might have been able to handle his words so far- he had been drinking, after all. But then he winked at her, he _winked_ at her, and said, "Baby, you know all I've ever done, I've done out of love for you. Love, and a desire to keep you safe."

Everything went a little fuzzy then, and she missed his "Here, Here!" and his attempts to find someone willing to clink his glass. The crack that had formed two days earlier at Parker's school grew until she was split right down the middle. She'd always found anger a safer place to land than despair, and it was a destination that typically served her well.

She couldn't really tell what anyone else thought about that toast, or whether Booth's wine glass had ultimately survived his grip. She was back on her feet, plastering on a perversion of a smile, making an excuse about whipped cream.

She grabbed a bowl, the cream, some sugar, and a whisk. People liked whipped cream on their pie, right? She began dumping in ingredients, whisking them as hard as she could into soft peaks, because her anger had to go somewhere, and she still hadn't worked out how to direct it towards its rightful target.

"_Baby, you know all I've ever done, I've done out of love for you. Love, and a desire to keep you safe."_

She remembered the exact moment, tied to that metal chair, behind that blinding spotlight, when she realized her father had lied. Again.

He had _winked _at her!

She remembered how it felt to realize that she had no answers to give, that whatever the price, she would have to pay it. Again.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and it was her brother, which caught her off-guard, because, while she had been sure there would be someone, she'd expected Angela. Maybe Booth. But it was Russ, and he surprised her, and she was already so angry. She spun the whisk too hard and sent the bowl flying. It was an accident.

Or maybe not.

The entire thing shattered, and she figured that meant everyone's pie wouldn't be perfect, but what was done was done. Russ reacted, but not quickly enough; she was already grabbing up glass before he'd registered what had happened. She'd already sliced her palm open before he was by her side. Another accident.

Or maybe not.

He let out a curse, and the rumblings in the next room signaled that they would not be alone for long. He wrapped a dishcloth around her hand, ushered her out of the kitchen.

He'd grabbed one of the decorative dishcloths. Everything good was being ruined.

As they passed through the dining room, the others' voices became urgent.

"I've got it." Russ silenced them, walked her to the bathroom, never let go of her hand.

"Tell me you have a first aid kit."

"Third shelf, in the closet."

He sat her on the ledge of the tub, left her to look for supplies. He returned quickly and began unwrapping the cloth from her hand. "Christ, Temp, this might need stitches."

She examined her hand with detachment. "No. It will be fine."

Her brother was skeptical, but he'd long since stopped fighting her. He pulled her up to hold her hand under running water. "There are little pieces of glass in there."

"Use the tweezers in the kit to pull them out, then close the wound with the butterfly bandages. It will be fine."

"Shit, that sounds painful."

"It's not your hand."

He gave her a look that let her know he thought she might be slightly crazy. "Yeah, I guess it's not."

Her brother took a breath to steel himself before attacking her palm with the tweezers. Her sharp intake of breath softened his eyes, painted pity on his features. He continued, gently. "When you were a little girl, I used to read to you. I'd read the Clifford books, because they'd been my favorite. Remember, _'I'm Emily Elizabeth from across the street' _?"

"I remember being very skeptical that a dog could grow that large or be that red...and that the girl across the street from us was named Lila."

Russ smiled, though he never looked up from her palm. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I remember you telling me at the time."

He pulled out another piece of glass, and it_ hurt._ She yanked her hand away, and she was just so _tired. _And hurt. But mostly tired. She buried her face in her hands. Tears would have been a relief, but they wouldn't come. Relief was a luxury she continued to be denied.

"Tempe?"

She raised her face from her hands, and Russ looked horrified. She knew why; she could see her reflection in the mirror over the sink. The blood from her palm slashed and smeared angrily across her face. She didn't want to wash it away. It looked right.

Russ' expression changed from horror to concern. There was a question in there somewhere, and she shook her head in answer.

"I...I don't even like pie."

The concern on her big brother's face never wavered, and it would have been touching, except nothing could really touch her anymore.

"I don't like pie, but I made it, because it's Thanksgiving, and everyone wants pie."

"Tempe?"

"You lied to me, Russ." Her voice cracked, but the tears still wouldn't come, and that made her so angry. "You lied to me, and you left me, and I wish...I was fine before. I was _fine._"

"I'm sorry." She might have been moved by the brokenness in his simple apology, but nothing could really move her anymore.

"I didn't trust him, but everyone kept telling me that I should, because he did one really bad thing, but it was because he loved me. And I believed them, because I wanted to believe them, and they said I needed a family, and I thought that was probably true. So I let him back in; I was happy to have him back. Because, surely, after something so huge, nothing else bad could happen. That's what I believed. Can you believe that, Russ? I am _smart._ I am a _scientist._ I _know_ better. I _know_ about patterns. I _know_, but I ...ignored everything I know...and...and I just want him to go away. I want him to go away and leave me alone, so I can be fine- the way I was before. But I can't be alone, because that's not _normal_, and it's _sad_, so there are just no answers, and I have to host Thanksgiving and make pie and want my father in my life..."

Her brother was crying. Damn him. Those were supposed to be her tears.

She sighed. "There is no reason to cry, Russ. I was just talking. I'm just tired, and my hand hurts-"

But he was shaking his head, standing up, walking toward her, brushing her hair off her cheek. "Oh, Temp."

He sounded pitiful. He thought she was pitiful.

He grabbed a washcloth, began sponging off her face.

_Just like the boy with the translucent eyes._ The thought came without her permission, and it made her so _weary_, knowing that they would always come like that- without warning- and that she'd always have to be on guard.

Russ cleaned the blood off her face and once again took her hand in his. "Okay, I can fix this."

It should have comforted her, but it was too late- nothing could really fix her anymore.


	51. Out of Character

**Author's Note:** I'm posting this early, because tomorrow is a holiday in the U.S. One traditionally celebrated with fireworks, which, in my neighborhood, means that tonight and tomorrow night (at least) will probably resemble Beirut in the 1980's. All that is to say, I'll be up late...which hopefully means I'll be sleeping late. Thanks to my well-developed ability to think ahead, though, this chapter will not be posted late. Happy 4th of July!

**Chapter 51: Out of Character.**

He'd been pretty proud of himself- he'd made it through dinner, and his fist hadn't once connected with Max Keenan's face. There were moments when he'd been tempted, but there were also two little girls in the room...and his increasingly strained partner...and, if you knew where to look, the faint outline of a hole in the drywall from the last time things with Max had gone too far.

So he'd sat at the table and acted as close to jovial as he could muster. For Bones...and because it was Thanksgiving, and he hadn't forgotten all those bargains he'd made with God in return for her safety- enough to keep him indebted for three lifetimes. Swallowing his rage seemed a minute price to pay.

He wanted to understand Max; he really did. He'd always felt some sort of odd kinship with the guy. If he were into literature, he'd probably make some parallels between the hero and the anti-hero; if he were into psychology, he'd probably go on and on about projecting. As it were, he'd always seen a man who loved his kids and who wanted a little redemption. He could relate to that.

What he couldn't relate to was the lying, the need to manipulate, the refusal to accept responsibility. If he weren't so fucking _smug_ all the time, if he would show even the slightest sign of brokenness...but Max Keenan seemed to buy into the _Love Story_ theory of important relationships- love means never having to say you're sorry.

Booth had always hated that bullshit.

He wasn't the one, though, that Max pushed over the edge. He gave that toast that was just so goddamned _unnecessary_, and Booth had nearly snapped the stem of his glass in two, but he'd managed to stay in his seat.

Hodgins hadn't.

He'd pushed back his chair, and an intent to lunge was written all over his face. Booth had never had more respect for the Bug Man.

Shame he had to stop him.

Which he did, of course, because the man's pregnant wife was sitting at the table too...although, on second thought, she probably would have approved. But Booth had always been the kind of guy to stop trouble before it really got a chance to start. He anticipated his friend's moves, slung an arm around him, and made an excuse about needing to show him something in the car.

It was lame, but it did the trick.

So they walked outside together, and it took the cold air slapping them both to bring Jack Hodgins around. Who would have thought?

"What a prick!"

And Booth raised his eyebrows, because profanity wasn't Jack's usual style.

"You know, I liked that guy." The scientist was affronted, and Booth settled in for the rant. "A fellow scientist, a rebel...he didn't trust authority- I _respected _that."

Hodgins was looking at him, but he really wasn't in need of a partner in this conversation.

"But...but he's a _prick. _Dr. B is his _daughter_, and she was _kidnapped_, and she still weighs about fifteen pounds too little, and it was because he _lied, _ and then he comes to _her_ house and says some self-aggrandizing asshole bullshit like that?"

Booth saw no errors in the scientist's assessment. "The man's a piece of work."

"Booth, man, _I'm _going to be a father." He hit his chest for emphasis. "_I'm _going to be a father, and my kid isn't even here yet, but there is already nothing in this world I wouldn't do, and _that_ guy... He's bad news." Hodgins slumped a little, some of the fire faded. "I know he was involved with most of that stuff before he had kids, and I know it isn't entirely fair, but Dr. B deserves better. She deserves better than him."

And you can't really argue with that sort of truth, so he didn't even try. "Yeah, she does."

"But I guess she also deserves a Thanksgiving that doesn't involve her friends beating up her father."

"Probably."

"Bummer."

And that was the Hodgins he knew. "Ready to rejoin the party?

oOo

When they returned, things seemed to have calmed down a bit. Angela was whispering with Cam, poor Michelle had been hijacked by Daisy, and Sweets was involved in what appeared to be polite small-talk with Amy. Max was teaching Emma and Hayley to play Chinese Checkers, and he would have found the scene sweet under different circumstances.

He searched out his partner, but was halted by Cam. "Don't bother, big guy. She's with her brother, getting first aid."

He'd been gone two minutes! How the hell could she need first aid? "Explain."

"Well, you were pretty occupied calming down Rocky Balboa over there, so you probably missed Brennan heading back to the kitchen and Russ following her. The best we can tell, she threw a bowl at him."

"What?"

"Or maybe it was an accident...how many glasses of wine have I had?" Cam stared at the red liquid as if it held all the answers.

"Camille..."

"A glass bowl was broken. She probably didn't throw it at him. That sounds out of character. So anyway, there was broken glass, and she must have cut herself, because big brother's up there bandaging her up. _Seeley."_

"Shit. Is she okay?"

"I'm sure she is, but maybe you should go see for yourself."

And he would have, except that he didn't have to, because Russ and Temperance had walked back into the room while he was interrogating a slightly wasted Cam.

Assessing her well-being came as naturally as breathing, and he could quickly tell that any physical damage had been minimal. But she wasn't okay, and, quite frankly, neither was Russ. They both had that dazed, vacant look that he had come to associate with the families he'd just informed of the death of a loved one.

He didn't like that look on his partner. He wanted to take it away, but he obviously didn't know how, and he feared he'd already used up all his leverage with God.

Russ seemed better able to shake it off than Bones. His eyes cleared with decisiveness, and he exchanged a look with Booth that seemed to indicate that they were in this together. Whatever this was.

He started to think that maybe Russ Brennan wasn't so bad after all.

"Well, folks, it's been great to see everyone, but we've got to start heading back. It's a long drive to North Carolina."

The others began their goodbyes. Emma gave an adorable pout. "But Grandpa Max was teaching us the checkers with the marbles!"

And maybe Bones wasn't the only Brennan with brains, and maybe Max wasn't the only one who knew how to work a situation, because Russ seemed to put it together that no one could resist his little girl. "I know sweetie. I bet if you asked nicely, Grandpa Max would come back to North Carolina with us and spend the whole weekend teaching you."

And God bless little Emma, because she turned to Max with eyes that would melt the strongest of men. "Yes! Grandpa Max, you have to come home with us! I'll show you the pictures I drew in school, and you can hold me up to put the star on the Christmas tree, because it's my turn this year, but I'm still too short. Please?"

Max looked startled, and Russ looked pleased. "What do you say, Dad? We'd love to have you for the weekend."

And Max had to know his son was working an angle, but it was packaged so nicely that he couldn't figure out how to unwrap it. He agreed. He had no choice.

As soon as that happened, Brennan was holding the door to usher them out, and Booth couldn't help but wonder if the siblings had planned the whole thing during their tete-a-tete in the bathroom.

Max gave her kiss on the cheek, and she stiffened. He looked ready to make another speech, but the girls were eager to say their goodbyes to Auntie Temperance, so Grandpa got pushed aside and walked to the car by a deliberately oblivious Amy.

Russ was up next, and Booth though he should probably turn away. Everyone else had the good grace to do so, but he had been burned before when it came to not watching. Russ wrapped his sister in an embrace, which she neither fully returned nor fully resisted. He moved his hands to her hair to pull the top of her head in for a kiss. Then, he pulled away and tipped her chin. "I am so, so sorry about the bowl."

It was the most heartfelt thing he'd ever heard Russ Brennan utter, and it would lead one to believe that either that was one hell of a glass bowl, or he wasn't talking about the bowl at all.

Booth was inclined to believe the latter, and he found himself a little jealous at the understanding the two of them had been able to build. It shamed him.

Gatherings bathed in tension tend to dissolve quickly once the first person leaves, and this one proved the rule. The next several minutes were a flurry of goodbyes and thank yous and see you on Mondays, and he found himself the last guest standing.

"Do you need some help cleaning up?"

She gestured to the table. "It's done. I guess everyone took care of it while I was getting my hand bandaged."

He took her hand carefully. "How is your hand?"

"It's fine."

He didn't let go. "How are you?"

"I'm-"

He shook his head, interrupting. "Don't say 'fine,' Bones."

She held his gaze, and he could see a war waging behind her eyes. She had something to tell, and she was so close to telling it to him. But, like always, something shut down, and the side that wanted to tell lost to the side that couldn't be reached.

"I don't know what else to say."

He smiled at her, because he knew that was an honest answer. "That's okay. Just know I'll be here when you do." He kissed her cheek as he put on his coat. "Happy Thanksgiving, Bones."


	52. Winners and Losers

**Chapter 52: Winners & Losers.**

Max Keenan was back at the Jeffersonian by Monday afternoon. He'd promised the kids in the after-school program that they could make a volcano. He really was trying to keep his promises. He usually succeeded when the promises were too small to matter.

The volcano activity had been a hit; it always was. An oldie, but a goodie. Kids loved eruptions. They hadn't yet learned to fear the moment when everything that had been held back finally rose to the surface. Kids, the kind who attended fancy after-school programs at world-class museums, had no concept of the ways in which those moments permanently altered the world entire.

Booth's little rugrat Parker had been completely hyper with excitement over the experiment. When the tiny volcano began to spill over, Parker had thrown his arms wide, ushering the other kids behind him. "Stand back, stand back," he'd yelled, and Max had gotten a glimpse of the kind of man the kid would become; a man like his father.

The Booths seemed destined to be guardians. Not too shabby, as far as destinies were concerned.

He liked to think that he might have made a good guardian himself- if he'd chosen a different road...if, way back when it had mattered, he'd made a different choice.

But he hadn't, and he wasn't really one to look back at all that could never be undone. No point to it. Too bad everyone else seemed less inclined to focus on the future. They wanted answers and explanations and "what's done is done" was never good enough. Trying was never good enough- success was all that mattered. He loved his children. He fought like hell to protect them; he fought like hell to mitigate the impact of choices he'd made before they even existed.

But what was done was done.

His situation was..._unconventional_, so his methods of protection had to be unconventional as well. Unconventional came with risk. Risk came with the occasional failure.

He did his best, but sometimes the people that mattered still got hurt, and it wasn't enough that they lived through it, or it made them stronger. It wasn't enough that _his_ kids knew how to survive this world. They had learned early on that people didn't get what they deserved and that life could take cruel turns you never saw coming. He considered this knowledge a gift- it was nothing less than the truth, after all. Not everyone agreed with him.

And he was really getting too old to fight them.

He made his way to the lab, his daughter's domain. He was surprised to find it empty except for her. It had been a long time since the others had left her alone. They must have seen that she wasn't as fragile as they wanted her to be. They must have seen that his Tempe was tough.

He smiled, because he had made her that way. Wasn't that the best thing a father could do for his daughter?

He'd made her tough, and he'd take care of anyone who caused her pain.

But it wasn't enough.

"Hi, Sweetheart."

Her eyes were wary when they rose to meet his. He took no offense; it made him proud. Wariness was vital to survival.

"Hello."

"Working hard?"

"Many people rely on my expertise."

"Damn right." He grinned. His daughter was important.

"Did you enjoy your stay in North Carolina?"

And this was why he'd really come here tonight. A test, of sorts. "I did. Those girls, they're sharp. It was good to spend time with them, to help out Russ and Amy, what with their jobs and Hayley's condition and all. Felt good being needed."

There was no change in her expression, and he regretted that his youngest wasn't easier to read.

He continued, "They have a pretty nice museum down there. Not as nice as this one, of course, but not bad. I took the girls for a visit, spoke with the Director of Education there. They'd like to replicate the Jeffersonian's after-school model."

Something clicked, and he thought he saw relief in her eyes. His Tempe, she was going to disappoint him.

"Are you considering a move?"

There was hope in her tone; it hurt. "Away from you? Why would I want to do that?"

"Why would you not want to do that?"

He'd put up a fight. He owed it to her. "I don't want to leave you. I missed so much time...I thought we had a deal."

"I don't make deals. You've spent three years with me. I wasn't the only one you left. If you could be helpful to Russ, and you enjoy being with the girls, a move would be the rational thing to do. I don't need you to stay for me. I'm so busy, I barely have time to see you anyway. It would appear that North Caroline could offer you everything you seem to want."

"What I want is time with you. You've-"

"Go." Her voice cracked. "Please go." She was begging, and he was disappointed; he'd taught her never to beg. "I can't be what you want me to be. I don't trust you. I don't feel safe around you. I...we tried, but too much has happened, and-"

"Tempe, you don't mean that."

"I do. I do mean it." And he could tell she did.

"We're family."

"What does that _mean_? Everyone always says that, but I fail to see the relevance. We share DNA. Why does it have to follow that we need to share a life? You left, and I moved on. I made a nice life for myself. You came back, and, against my better judgement, I made room for you. But...it hasn't been good for me. All the things that have happened-"

"Is this about the kidnapping? Because I would have taken your place in a heartbeat, had I known. And I know, I didn't tell you about the trial, but that was for your own protection. If you'd known, it wouldn't have necessarily changed things. I know that Booth blames me. Is he behind this?"

She shook her head, and she looked angry now. Bringing up Booth was a mistake. He knew better than to force her to choose between the two of them; he was well aware of which man she valued most.

"This isn't about Booth, and it isn't about blame. I don't hold you responsible for what happened to me. I really don't. I just...you make me tired. You always seem to want things from me that I don't know how to give. I don't know you. I knew Matthew Brennan, but he wasn't real. You...I've tried to know you, but...I don't think I really want to."

And it was time to stop fighting. It was time to let her win this one. Because his girl had a point. She had tried, and now she wanted to walk away without regrets. Who was he to begrudge her that? And didn't he also win in this scenario? He'd tried too; it wasn't his fault that it didn't work out. She was letting him walk away from his mistakes. She was freeing him of his obligations.

The truth was, she made him tired too.

And he really did prefer the winters in North Carolina.


	53. Goodwill Towards Men

**Chapter 53: Goodwill Towards Men.**

It had taken her a week to notice it, but something was missing. The tension in her shoulders, the unsettled feeling in her stomach- they were gone. They had been fading since her talk with her father, and now they were gone. She sat down at her desk to prioritize her emails before going to meet with Booth and Sweets. She smiled to herself, because today when they asked if she was feeling better, her 'yes' would be honest.

"Dr. Brennan?"

She looked up to see Cam, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. "Is everything okay, Dr. Saroyan?"

The other woman blew out a breath and sank into the chair across from her. "I'm just going to say this. I know. We all know."

Brennan felt some of the tension creep back in. "Know what?"

Cam kept opening her mouth, then shutting it again. Finally shook her head and leveled her gaze.

She though she knew where this was going, and she expected to see pity in her friend's eyes. People often surprised her, though, and she saw only kindness and determination.

"All of us who love you, and we do, we know that things haven't been as easy for you as you've made them seem. We know that. You haven't talked about it very much, and we haven't pushed. I don't know whether or not that was the right thing to do. But I just didn't want you to mistake our lack of pushing for a failure to see. We see you, Dr. Brennan."

Now she was the one opening and closing her mouth, unable to make a start.

Cam filled in the silence. "Not only do we see you, but we admire you for being so strong. And we'd still admire you if, from time to time, you couldn't be so strong. We'd want to be here for you. Just like you'd be here for us. We want you to know that. We should've said so earlier. I'm sorry I didn't say so earlier."

And Brennan knew she must look foolish, because she still couldn't find the right words, but she also couldn't seem to close her mouth. But she felt the tension leave her shoulders again, and she recognized the feeling for what it was. Relief. Not panic, not anger, not fear. Cam's words brought her relief. Her mouth twisted into a smile, and she watched her friend's face rearrange itself to mirror her own, and she still hadn't spoken, but suddenly both women were laughing.

It felt like enough. It felt like an understanding. Cam must have agreed, because she walked around Brennan's desk to give an awkward side hug that resulted in more laughter, then she left. And Brennan noticed that there seemed to be less tension in her friend's shoulders too. She must have known that this time, it really was okay to leave. Brennan could have sat there, smiling about it for the rest of the day, but she had to leave too. She had a pseudo-scientist to see.

oOo

"I have an early Christmas present for you guys."

Brennan eyed him suspiciously as she took her usual seat next to her partner. "I had no intention of getting you a gift, Dr. Sweets."

Right. Same old Dr. Brennan.

He watched as Booth leaned over to whisper something to her about tact. Same old Agent Booth.

He settled back in his chair as the partners went back and forth about Christmas gifts and professional boundaries and, wait for it, religion. Oh, and there went Dr. Brennan, making a snarky comment about Santa. And...yep, Agent Booth didn't disappoint with a comment about the psychologist across the desk and how they shouldn't ruin his belief in flying reindeer.

And, right on schedule, they weren't arguing anymore. They were brought together by a shared object of mirth. Namely, him...who they were whispering about...even though they were sitting right across from him...and they'd already had multiple conversations about the ineffectiveness of their whispers. Same old Booth and Brennan.

Which, conveniently, brought him right back to that early Christmas gift that had set that lovely example of inter-partner communication in motion.

"Yes, so as I was saying, I have good news."

The pair widened their boundaries to include him, and he was a little resentful of how good it felt each time that happened, but he wasn't able to ruminate on that for long because the Agent was looking him over impatiently, and it was never wise to keep Booth waiting on good news.

"This will be our last official meeting in this capacity. The Bureau has thoroughly reviewed your work since Dr. Brennan's return and has deemed it up to its usual exemplary standards. They feel that your partnership has recovered nicely from the trauma of last summer and that there's no further need for the intervention of a psychologist. I happen to agree."

Which wasn't the same thing as saying that she was fine, or even that _they_ were fine. In fact, Sweets was convinced that neither was true. He had attempted to probe into the details of her kidnapping, and she'd shut him down at every turn. He'd looked to Booth for support, and he could tell the Agent was on his side...but that he was always on her side more. If "Bones" didn't want to talk, then Booth wasn't going to let anyone push her.

There had been a few chinks in her walls, a few instances when she looked ready to say something uncalculated. But she'd always managed to hold herself back, and she always had that exemplary record to fall back upon. Whatever issues her abduction had left behind, she'd been able to stuff into one compartment while living and working in another.

He doubted that plan would stand the test of time. But he'd been wrong before.

So he just let himself enjoy her smile, and he didn't even take time to feel hurt that spending less time with him brought her so much joy. Because he knew that wasn't what this was really about. Because he really did know her, and he knew that she took the end of their sessions as proof that she wasn't visibly damaged. And it made her happy. And even though he couldn't fix her, at least today he could make her happy.

He wasn't really comfortable in the role of "mental health professional" with these two anyway. He found he much preferred filling the role of friend.

As a mental health professional, he felt the need to prod, to unearth all the truths waiting to be told. As a friend, he understood that talking didn't heal all wounds, that sometimes it just plain felt better to hide scars.

So he enjoyed her smile and Booth's excited gibberish about them being the best. He laughed with them when they groaned simultaneously at the realization that they'd gotten out of therapy, but still had to attend the Jeffersonian's holiday party. And he warmed at the sensation that he was a part of something good when they waited expectantly for him to join them as they left.

He switched off the lights and followed them to the elevator, praying to whatever god was listening that friendship might be a starting place for healing whatever in her therapy couldn't touch.

oOo

People loved twinkly lights, that was her first thought upon entering the museum's lobby and seeing it all decked out for the party. For today, at least, she couldn't hold it against them. She was there, and she was with Booth, and for the first time in a long time, their partnership wasn't on the line. She no longer had to attend therapy, and her father would be moving, and she still had her friends. Something horrible had happened to her, but it hadn't taken away everything. It wasn't everything. And the twinkly lights, they helped.

Twinkly lights had the opposite effect of regular lights. Regular lights revealed truth and exposed flaws. Twinkly lights brushed over and created illusions; they smoothed sharp edges and made everything beautiful. They made the concern that never seemed to leave Booth's eyes fade away. They made it easy to smile and laugh and tease Sweets.

For today, she understood the big deal about twinkly lights.

But she didn't spend too long on them, because she'd barely crossed the threshold to the party when Cam was beside her with a glass of champagne and an introduction to a board member whose wife loved her novels and to whom an autograph would mean the world...or at least a sizable donation. She was happy to oblige, happy to do what had always been asked of her.

No one was coddling her today. No one was giving her space.

When she returned to her friends, she was content to talk of everyone's Christmas plans.

"...He actually hated Paris, but I'm pregnant, and it's our last trip alone for a while, so how could he say no?"

"...Hey, if you don't want to go to Paris, I'll trade with you. Five days in Brooklyn with my father and sisters- you take Michelle, and Angela and I will check out the Louvre..."

"No, no, no. No one else gets to complain. I'll be spending Christmas Day in the _airport_, because I let Padme talk me into flying out to see her and Jared."

"But you'll get Christmas Eve with Parker, and the holidays are always better with little kids."

"The _airport_, people. I win. Hands down." He turned to her, his tone joking, but the concern was making its way back into his gaze. Apparently the twinkle lights' powers were somewhat limited. "I still think you should come with me, Bones- sit in uncomfortable airports seats together, eat nasty airport pizza in place of Christmas dinner, try to navigate around obnoxious families in the security lines- these are the things partners do for each other."

She acknowledged the joke, ignored the concern. "Partners take bullets for each other, but I believe it's safe to draw the line at sharing in the misery of holiday travel."

He pouted. "Nice, Bones."

"Besides, you know I have plans with my father; I have to say goodbye."

"But that's on Christmas Eve; I'm talking about Christmas Day."

"Now you're whining."

Angela linked arms with her. "Forget Jared and Padme- if you're going to be at the airport on Christmas Day, there's always Paris." She waggled her eyebrows.

"Don't do it Dr. B! She has a sinister plan- if she gets us both there, she'll never let us leave."

"Brooklyn, people, there's always Brooklyn..."

And she laughed along with them and refused them all. Because she didn't really believe it, that if you were alone on the holiday, it meant that no one loved you.

She rested her head on Angela's shoulder and winked at Booth.

No, she didn't believe it at all.


	54. For An Ending

**Chapter 54: For An Ending.**

He met her at the Royal Diner. It seemed to sad, having another forced dinner at her empty apartment. At least the diner had lights and a tree and reindeer appliques on the door. At the diner, the bright lights and other patrons would keep things from getting too heavy. At the diner, he could stare out the big window at his car filled with suitcases and remind himself that he was moving on.

"I see what you're doing." She looked up at him with startled eyes, and he pointed to her plate. "You're moving your food around on the plate, but you're not eating it. Is that why you're looking like a bag of bones these days?"

"I do not think that would be an accurate-"

"You're too thin. Tempe, you're not becoming one of those girls who starve themselves to look like models, are you?"

She rolled her eyes, and he got a glimpse of what it might have been like to have been around for her high school years. "Don't be ridiculous."

And he was being ridiculous, but she was also too thin. As far as explanations went, an attempt to conform to impossible societal standards was far more appealing than his other option. "They didn't feed you?"

She didn't answer, but she also didn't pretend to misunderstand.

"It's good they're already dead, because if I had the chance..." He felt his skin heating up, his heart racing, as he considered all the ways to exact revenge for his daughter. "And Marshal Coker- that bastard better be on his knees every night thanking God they've got him in isolation. The second they move him-"

His daughter was shaking her head, and he remembered what she'd said about him making her tired. She wanted him to stop, not to explain, but he couldn't help himself.

"This is who I am, Tempe. You and your brother are everything to me. Someone hurts you, and I have to do something. I can't stand it that they took you because of me, that they kept you because of me, that they hurt you in my place. I hate them for taking the coward's way out and killing themselves before I got the chance."

She didn't speak, but he could see the way her breath quickened at his words, and he stopped. He was trying to show her he loved her, but everything he did just seemed to cause her more pain. And that was the heart of the matter- he didn't really know how to love his daughter the way she needed him to. His ways were the only ways he knew.

"I am usually able to eat. I had trouble at first, but I've gotten better. I know I'm still thin, but my doctor is pleased with my progress. I am within the normal range for my height, though at the lower end of the spectrum. I usually eat. I suppose I'm just...nervous tonight."

It was honest and more than he expected. His first instinct was to ask why she would be nervous to eat with him, but he was learning that maybe his first instincts weren't his best. "I'm a little nervous too."

She seemed to appreciate his effort. "It has been proven through multiple studies that stress levels rise during the holiday season."

"Makes sense." There was a few minutes of silence while he took several bites of his hamburger, and she nibbled on a fry. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me to North Carolina? You could just stay through New Year's, then fly back."

She shook her head. "Everyone's going to be gone, and I was hoping to use the time to catch up on work. I'm still behind. You have the gifts to take to everyone, correct?"

His eyes moved to the car outside the window, the one waiting to drive to a new life. "Yep. They're packed up with all my stuff." There was a lull, a chance to end everything here and say goodbye, but... "When...when you were in foster care...You were always well-taken care of, right? I mean, they fed you and everything..."

He had taken her by surprise, and it meant something. He could tell. "Yes, I received adequate nutrition." She cocked her head and smiled. "Miss Anna taught me to make cookies."

She was making cookies. So it couldn't have been so bad. "That sounds nice."

"It was."

"I...it was never my intention...I thought that you and Russ would stick together..."

"Everything worked out."

She was letting him off the hook. He loved her for it. "I guess it did. You're a world-renowned scientist. Russ has a family. I guess everything worked out." He could have left it there...but not really. "I wanted to stay for you, Tempe. I feel like I'm failing you here."

He could see her gathering her thoughts, and eventually she let out a deep breath. "Booth would say that the fact that you tried is proof that you love me. He would probably say that you don't have to be right next to someone to love them. He would say this isn't a failure."

"And Booth's the expert, huh?"

"I have always found his insights helpful in understanding the complexities of human relationships."

"Well, he hates my guts, but he's a good man, Booth."

"He is."

He reached across the table to take his little girl's hand. "And we're okay?"

"Yes. Perhaps we may not conform to the traditional familial expectations, but Booth once told me there all different kinds of families. We're okay."

And while he'd never admit it out loud, he would spend the rest of his days being thankful for Seeley Booth's presence in his daughter's life.

"What about you, Tempe? With all of this...and everything before...Are you okay?"

He'd know if she lied to him, and she knew it. "I feel confident that I will be."

Which was really the best anyone could ever say.

He was not perfect, and he had most definitely failed her. He was not what she needed, at least not most of the time. She would never fully trust him...truthfully, that made him a little proud; his girl was no fool. But...

It was Christmas Eve, and they left the diner arm in arm. Snow was beginning to fall, and she didn't pull away when he kissed her cheek goodbye.

It wasn't so bad, for an ending.


	55. Me, Without You

**Author's Note: **Sorry this is late- a late work night resulted in a slow morning. Also, I'm sorry for scaring some of you with the last chapter- it wasn't the end. We're almost there, though- only two more chapters. I might alter my regular posting schedule to finish this story by the end of the week. Ending on a Monday just seems wrong, don't you think?

**Chapter 55: Me, Without You.**

He sank down against the wall as he pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. It took longer than usual, but she answered.

"Hello?" She sounded half asleep.

"Bones? Did I wake you?"

"No." A yawn gave away her fib.

"It's Christmas morning. Are you seriously sleeping in on Christmas morning?"

"That it is Christmas morning is precisely why I find it permissible to sleep in. What, you think I should race into the living room to see what Santa brought?"

"Such a cynic, Bones. Maybe you should open your front door. It's possible Santa still has a few tricks up his sleeve."

Seconds later, he heard the click of locks, and the door across from him opened to reveal his still-groggy partner. It took her a minute to process the fact that he was sitting across from her, but when she did, he watched her fight a grin.

She put down her cell phone and crossed her arms. "Is the implication that Santa brought me you for Christmas?"

He stood and opened his arms wide. "Ta- da!"

She shook her head and leaned against the doorframe to allow him room to pass. "Too bad. I'd asked for a pony."

He laughed, because that really was a good one. "Maybe next year, Bones. If you're good. Besides, would a pony have arrived bearing coffee and danish?"

The treats he waved in front of her won her over. "Probably not."

"That's right. Pony, schmony." He made himself at home, finding plates, setting her table. He gestured for her to join him.

"What are you doing here, Booth?"

He grinned. "Making my best friend's Christmas awesome."

"I thought you were supposed to be with Jared and Padme."

"Haven't you looked outside? Listened to the news?"

"No. I was asleep until you called."

"Ha! I knew it!" He held up his fork in triumph, and she glared. "Snowstorm," he said around bites of pastry. "All flights are cancelled."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Which was the truth. He was right where he wanted to be.

oOo

Without ever discussing it, they agreed to spend the day together. They finished off the danish, and it wasn't until after they moved to the couch. He told her about Parker and his latest video game obsession, and she told him about Max and their Christmas at the diner. He didn't trust himself on the subject of Max, so he didn't ask too many questions. Instead, he grabbed the remote and found a channel playing _White Christmas_ and decided this was the best holiday he'd had in a while.

After the movie, they were cleaning up remnants from the snacks they'd turned into lunch, when she gasped.

Holding up a finger, she ordered him not to move. "I have your gift. I'll be right back."

She returned with an elaborately gift-wrapped package, and he looked at her questioningly. "I thought we didn't do Christmas gifts, Bones."

"Well, since you brought yourself as a gift to me, it's only fair that I reciprocate."

"I'm not sure that my mere presence- unexpected, at that- counts as a gift."

"I am," she said in a way that made his heart clench, "but if it would make you feel better, think of it as a thank-you gift."

"What are you thanking me for? I mean, other than being my delightful self."

She rolled her eyes. "For looking for me. For rescuing me."

He teared up in an instant. "Bones-"

She punched him playfully. "Open the present, Booth."

So, he did. It was some kind of book. He examined the cover, and he was...confused. It was one of those books you'd find at a D.C. gift shop- _Strange, but True: The Presidents. _He looked up at her, and she looked so excited about the gift. He needed to play this moment carefully; he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"Um, wow, Bones. Thanks...this is...nice. I've been meaning to brush up on my presidential history..."

"I marked one of the stories. You should read it."

It was obvious that she meant now, so he turned to a page she had marked near the end.

It was about the Lincoln assassination, and he felt the smallest tinge of annoyance. She knew he didn't like talking about this. Still, she looked so adorably proud, and they'd had such a nice day, and it was a gift, so he read. And when he was finished, he didn't know what to say.

"Did you know that? Did you know about John Wilkes Booth's older brother Edwin?"

He tried to work his words around the lump in his throat. "No. I'd never heard of him."

"So you didn't know that Edwin Booth once saved a teenager from falling from a train? You didn't know that the teenager was Robert Todd Lincoln, the son of Abraham Lincoln?"

"No, Bones. I didn't know that."

She looked back at him with a smile so big, he wanted to gather her to him and never let her go. "But you know it now, right? You know that if there was ever a cosmic ancestral debt, it's already been paid. Booth-"

He looked up at her, still trying to find a way to speak.

"I've been all over the world."

He nodded. "I know."

"I've seen a lot of things...and with you, with what we do, I've seen so many awful things that people do to each other"

The lump was getting bigger. His voice was a whisper. "I know that too."

"So, through observation and experience, I've learned that there are some really bad people, and there are really good people, and there's a lot in between."

She was working so hard, trying to make him understand. "What are you saying, Bones?"

Her words were rushed. "There's no such thing as a knight in shining armor, and you know where I stand on saviors." She was fidgeting. "What I mean is, I think the luckiest of us have people, just regular people- friends, family, neighbors, coworkers, whoever- to make whatever comes along a little easier to bear. Not some perfect, mythical hero. Just people."

And he heard her. He really did. He worked through the lump to smile up at her and hold up his book. "So this is pretty much the best gift ever, just so you know."

Her face relaxed. "Better than the old fashioned phone?"

"A million times better."

She looked so happy, and he didn't want to do a thing to ruin it, but she had just given him a gift that was perfect- one that no one else would have ever thought to give- and there was something she had to know. Something he couldn't let stand.

"Bones? When...before you were kidnapped, when we were all tied up-"

"Booth-"

"No, please let me say this, okay? You were talking, and I couldn't stop you. You were saying all these things about how they should take you, and at the time we didn't know that that had always been the plan. You said something...You said that they should take you because there was no one to whom you mattered the most."

"I just meant-"

"You matter the most to me." His tone was urgent. "I need you to know that, okay? I mean, yes, there's Parker, and he's my kid, and kids are everything, but, Bones...you matter the most to me."

She looked like she might cry, but he figured that was alright. What were the holidays without a few tears? All that mattered, all that mattered in the world right now, was that he never had worry that she didn't know what she meant to him.

"I know a lot has happened, especially this past year, but here's what I've come to understand- there is no me without you. Okay?"

She wiped at a few stray tears. "Okay."

And a few tears were okay, but not too many, because there'd been enough of that this year. So he smiled again. "Now get back over to the couch, Bones. _The Grinch _is about to start."


	56. And Never Brought to Mind

**Author's Note: **Because ending this story on a Monday would be wrong, review replies are on hold until the end of the story (next chapter *sniff*). For those who wondered, Edwin Booth really did save the life of Robert Todd Lincoln...I've been holding onto that info for a while. The book Bren gave Booth, however, was a product of my imagination. Thank you for your lovely comments, and thanks to Amilyn for some extra help on this one.

**Chapter 56: And Never Brought to Mind.**

She never did get any work done over the break. The snow didn't let up for days, and it brought the already pared-down-by-the-holidays city to a standstill. She would have been tempted to brave it, but Booth never did go see Jared and Padme; he stayed in D.C., and he came over every morning to keep her busy.

"Are you ever just going to knock on my door again?" She greeted him at exactly 7:30 AM. She'd learned that her partner liked to get an early start on days off.

"Probably not. I like calling. I like how you come to the door all scrunchy-faced because I didn't just knock."

He had brought danish again, so she decided to let it go.

Her eyes closed in pleasure as she bit into the warm pastry he handed her. No one would have anything to say about her weight if she kept this up. "You know I've accomplished nothing in the last week, thanks to you."

His expression was all faux hurt. "So not true, Bones. You have perfected the underestimated arts of the snowman and the snow angel. You have gained valuable combat skills through the ancient practice of the snowball fight. You are now able to stand on ice skates for five minutes without either grabbing onto my arm or falling on your ass. I'd say that's pretty impressive for a week. Besides, you should be thanking me for keeping you off the hazardous roads in your itty-bitty death trap of car."

"You could have used your precious four-wheel drive to take me to the Jeffersonian."

"I could have, but I didn't. And it's too late now- New Year's Eve." His eyes went all twinkly in that way that made her forget the scientific reasons why. "So, how are we going to ring in the New Year?"

oOo

With hot chocolate and a televised special of the ball dropping over Times Square- the way she'd celebrated the New Year when she was a child, and she had a family.

The snow had started again that morning, and Booth had insisted that they'd exhausted all of their outdoor winter options. So, they turned on the television and found a marathon of a ridiculous reality show about some aging rock star's search for love. And they'd had a lengthy discussion on how such shows illustrated a disturbing societal decline. They'd expressed their disdain for the people involved and reveled in their mutual disbelief that such a piece of trash could attract so many viewers. And then they watched the entire thing.

And now it was nearing midnight, and he believed that such occasions needed to be celebrated. Champagne wasn't something she just kept lying around the house, but he said hot chocolate was better...especially if it had marshmallows. So they sat together with their mugs, watching performers they'd never heard of sing songs they didn't know, while out the window of her apartment, snow continued to fall. And she had to concede that it was beautiful- that even the most decrepit structure was lovely when swathed in white.

And before she knew it the people on the television were counting down, and Booth wanted her to join in. So she did, even though it was irrelevant...even though it was already the New Year in Australia and Tonga and Maluku. Then they were clinking their mugs, and the people on television were kissing strangers, and some teenage singer was crooning a rendition of _Auld Lang Syne_.

Which was really a very sad song, even the way the over-sexualized teenager sang it. And though there was a blizzard, someone in D.C. must have found a way to obtain fireworks, because they were going off in the snow, and it reminded her of the explosion following her escape, which made her heart race just a little.

And Booth was beside her smiling and butchering _Auld Lang Syne_ to an even greater extent than the teenager. And she'd come so close to losing him so many times this year- to her fears, to her plans, to another woman, to her father's past. But he was still right here with her. He was her partner. He was the one who mattered the most. She could trust him, and it was time she accepted that.

She had a story to tell...and she knew he could hear it.

Starting was always problem; best to begin with a fact.

"I've had a really bad year."

_Auld Lang Syne_ was stopped in its tracks, the television was muted. Her partner would meet her eyes for this talk.

"I know."

And one fact could follow another. "But you don't. Not really."

He wouldn't be scared away, not Booth. She could see it in the way he straightened, the way he drew in his breath. She could feel it in the way he grabbed her hand and held on tightly. He wasn't going anywhere. "You can tell me."

So she did. She told him everything- about Creedence Clearwater Revival and _Have You Ever Seen the Rain_; about the trunk and the way one of the men had called her "sugar pie." She told him about the room, and how it was always cold and about how she thought she would die of thirst. She told him about the plans she made when she thought she was being held for ransom, and how she chose not to fight.

She told him about her interrogation, and she felt the pressure of his hand increase on hers. She told him about the suffocation and the realization that it had nothing to do with their case and everything to do with her father. Her heart started racing, and her words caught in her throat, but she told him about what came next. She tried to present each detail as clinically as possible. A few times she stumbled. She told him about the man with the cinnamon candy, and she didn't cry. Her voice shook with a rage she didn't realize she still felt when she told him how it still bothered her that the man had been able to get his way using something as ordinary as a credit card or driver's license.

There was a time or two when she had to look down, but her eyes always returned to his eventually. He never looked away. She told him about all of the days after the first day, and how she never knew what to expect. She told him about the man with the cinnamon candy's proclivity for biting- shakily, she showed him one of her scars. He didn't leave her side.

She forced out the story about the man with the translucent eyes and the dragging foot, and how he was the worst, because he was the only one she'd allowed herself to trust. She told him about the food, and what she did to survive. Something snapped inside of her while she recounted that part of the story- but it wasn't the kind of snapping that denotes a break...it was more of a snapping into place. It wasn't difficult at all, telling him that the man who'd forced her to trade herself for food was the same man that saved her in the end.

She quoted to him from the Code of Conduct of the Armed Forces and explained why she couldn't tell him the truth in the beginning. She watched him crumble a little at that, but she found that she was able to bear it, that it was a reasonable reaction from someone who was on her side. She promised that she wasn't lying when she said she'd be okay. Because she knew- now without a doubt- that she would be. Eventually, she would be.

And then there was nothing left to tell, and it was her turn to listen. So she waited.


	57. When It Counts

**Author's Note: **And so we've come to an end. Thank you for hanging in there with this long story. A million thanks to Amilyn for her encouragement and assistance (you should check out her stories!). I'll miss the reviewers I've gotten to know while writing this. I'm sure I'll "see" you around. ;)

**Chapter 57: When it Counts.**

It took a minute for him to be able to hear anything other than his own blood rushing through his ears. It took him a minute longer to be able to see through the red haze that had formed before his eyes. It didn't take him very long to be able to admit to himself that he'd always known there had to be more.

But it was worse than he thought, and he didn't know that he could believe her when she said she'd be okay. How had she done it? How had she lived through it? How had she come back and gone to work and been his partner and hosted dinners and built snowmen? He would have asked, but he knew her, and he already knew her answer.

What else could she have done?

A million things, really. She could have done a million things. She could have given up. She could have retreated completely into herself. She could have lost it, let anger consume her. She could have started drinking. She could have found God, or started to believe in psychology. She could have turned her back on a world that never seemed to deal a fair hand.

But none of those things were Bones.

So she did what she did- lived through it, packed it all away, and moved on. But now she was telling him. Now she was wondering if maybe she wouldn't have to move on alone. Stories beg responses, but his came slowly, because it had to be right.

Fury, that was his instinct. At Max, who should have told the goddamned truth, who should have done a better job of protecting his children. At himself, for not being fast enough, for hiding from the truth. At those men...those men...

It could have consumed him, but she was right there beside him. Max was gone. The men were dead. And she didn't need him to make this about himself. She needed him to prove that he was the man she thought he was. She needed him to prove that she could tell him everything and that nothing fundamental about who they were would change.

She needed a response, but starting was hard. He did what she would do; he began with the truth.

"I'm sorry." And the dam broke, and tears spilled over. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He held tightly to her hand and told the truth, over and over again.

She shook her head. "You shouldn't be sorry. You don't need to apologize, there's no reason-"

It was one of those times where maybe he could help her understand. "Yes there is. There is a reason. I'm not...I know it's not about me. I'm not blaming myself and having you take that on too, but...but that doesn't mean that I'm not so, so sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry that I didn't get there sooner, that _somebody_ didn't get there sooner. I'm sorry that it's been months, and you've been facing it all alone." He cupped her chin in his hand. "I meant it when I told you that you mattered the most to me, and I'm so sorry that this happened to one of the people I care about the most. I'm sorry, Bones."

She chewed on her lip before speaking, and her words weren't what he expected. "Booth, I have a question, and I need you to answer me as a law enforcement professional, not as my friend."

And he wanted to give her what she needed, but he also wanted to be honest. "I'm not sure I'm capable of being anything other than your friend right now."

"But this is important."

He wouldn't let her down. Not again. Not when it was important. He steeled himself. "Okay. What's the question?"

"If you were hearing my story as a case study and were asked to make critiques, what would you have suggested I do differently?"

Oh God. This was what she had been carrying with her. He tried not to let his voice shake. "Not a fucking thing. You did everything you could have done with the information you had."

"There were several times...during transport...those first few days...I didn't fight."

Now he was the one shaking his head. That she even had these questions caused him actual physical pain, but he did his best to inject professionalism into his tone. For her. He would do anything for her. "It wouldn't have been smart. You were outnumbered in unfamiliar territory. You were blinded. If this were a case study, I would have said you did everything right."

But she wasn't done. "What about the food? Hunger pains are severe, but misleading. You think you're going to die, when, in reality, there's time..."

He was going to vomit. He had to stop her. "NO." Maybe he said it more loudly than he should have; she flinched, and he softened. "No. No. You had no real choices there, Bones. No. If...if you had done anything differently, you probably wouldn't be sitting here with me right now. I would have found your body, blown to bits and mixed with all the pieces of those bastards." He visualized the men in pieces. It calmed him.

"And that is your professional opinion?" She would trust him, he could tell.

"Yes, that is my opinion as a law enforcement professional." And as her partner. And as her friend. And as the man who loved her.

She took that in, thought on it. He watched the tension leave her eyes the moment she accepted it. "Okay."

The countdown on the television screen had started once again, marking the passing of another year for some other time zone. Her hand was still safely in his. She was still there. This was new to him, but she had already been living with it. She was the expert.

"So what do we do now, Bones?"

She turned to him pensively. "Right now?"

He let out a breath that was half laugh. His partner, always literal. "Sure. What do we do right now?"

"I...I suppose we should clean up our hot chocolate mugs."

And you had to start somewhere. "After that?"

"Well," she though for a moment, "then you stay in the spare room, because it's still snowing, and there are a disproportionate number of drunk drivers out on New Year's Eve, and it's well after midnight, and I don't really want to have to get out of bed to let you in at 7:30."

He could accept that. "Okay. What about after the holidays? What about when we go back to real life?"

"This is real life, Booth."

She had a point. But still. "You know what I mean, Bones."

She shrugged a little. "We go to work. We catch bad guys."

They would be who they had always been. Fundamentally. "And we'll be okay."

"There's no reason for us not to be."

He had to say it. "But if we're not, we'll ask for help."

She nodded; she knew what he meant. "And I'll finally start planning Angela's baby shower." Her eyes lit up; she had something else to tell him. "Did you know that if it's a girl, they're going to name her after me?"

He smiled a real smile. "We're going to have a baby Temperance?"

"Well, not exactly. It will be her middle name. They won't call her that. Angela says it's awful."

He was offended. "Angela's middle name is Pearly Gates! Who the hell is she to say someone else's name is awful?" And even though it felt weird to do so, he laughed. "Can you imagine what they'll probably name that baby? Probably something insane, like...like, Merry-Go-Round!"

She joined him in the laughter. "You are being ridiculous."

"No, no. I could totally see it. Little baby Merry-Go-Round Temperance Montenegro Hodgins."

"That would be...horrible."

"Right? Or, oh God, Hodgins could insist on some sort of bug name. Praying Mantiss Temperance Montenegro Hodgins."

She was laughing so hard she was crying, and he loved seeing her happy. But they weren't finished, because the time for glossing over things had passed

"Will you be seeing Max again?"

She sobered. "Not a lot. Maybe at the holidays. Maybe."

"I'm sorry I brought him back into your life. I'm sorry I pushed you to accept him."

"I'm not."

He squeezed her hand. "Okay, so you'll plan Angela's baby shower and sometimes you'll spend holidays with Max. Then what?"

"I imagine...Sweets always says that our emotional lives aren't linear...so...so I guess that means that occasionally something will happen to remind me of the kidnapping or the assault, and it will take my breath away."

He looked at her intently. "And then you'll call me."

"Okay. And then I'll call you." She smiled up at him shyly. "And then one day, I'll turn around, and it won't be shadowing me anymore...metaphorically speaking."

He smiled. "You speak metaphorically now, Bones?"

"From time to time. I'm working on it."

"You're doing good."

"I don't do anything that I can't do well."

"Touche, Bones." He winked at her before turning serious. "So where will it be, metaphorically?"

"Still there, but farther away." She sounded certain.

There was one more thing he had to make sure she knew. "And where will I be?"

She gave him a look that let him know there was no doubt. "You'll be beside me."

And that was enough for now. She would be okay. They would be okay. Eventually.

"Damn straight, Bones. Always."

**Fin**


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